Beyond Your Grasp
by jaxink
Summary: "Happiness is a butterfly, which when pursued, is always just beyond your grasp..." -a collection of Prowl/Jazz oneshots written for various challenges and prompts-
1. Frost Vision

_Disclaimer: Don't own it._

**Beyond ****Your ****Grasp**

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><p><em>AN: This collection of oneshots was written for various prowlxjazz community challenges on LJ over the last couple years. Just never got around to posting them here. The first few I'll be posting were written in December 2010 for the Delightful December challenge._

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><p>Original publish date: 121/10

Prompt: Frost on the windshield  
>Verse: G1<br>Rating: K+  
>Warnings: Just a few TF swears<br>Summary: Prowl knows what he's talking about. Jazz decides not to listen anyway.

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><p><strong>Frost Vision<strong>

The snowstorm hit without warning. (Okay, the news stations and weather services had predicted snow flurries, but this was practically a blizzard!) The cold white stuff turned into quite the blustery affair and shut down the city. People locked their homes up tight. Businesses and schools closed early. The snowflakes fell frantically at a rapid pace, blanketing the ground faster than the salt trucks could combat it through the night.

As a gesture of goodwill, Optimus Prime sent out what mechs he could spare to offer aid to city officials. Some citizens without transportation needed rides to reach home. Law enforcement and electrical crews responded to local emergencies attributed to the harsh winter environment. Others were stuck in snowdrifts up to their chests and needed rescuing.

Each distress call was answered until none remained. Leading the small team, Prowl commed his fellow soldiers to reconvene on the main road so they could make an attempt to return to the Ark, or if necessary, find an acceptable shelter. '_Autobots, report to my coordinates. We are heading back_.'

The black and white Datsun waited for each 'bot to respond affirmative. Mentally tallying the list in his processor, he reversed then tread forward again on his tires back and forth in attempt to keep his core temperature running level while in his alt mode. His windshield wipers were furiously battling the flakes sticking incessantly to the glass. Prowl's headlights cast luminescent shadows on the swirling drifts of snow, several other beacons of light appearing in the distance. Within a few breems, his team had reassembled.

"Let's take a quick moment to verify we have everyone..." Prowl began succinctly.

Sideswipe flashed his headlights in annoyance. "Oh, c'mon Prowl! We're all here."

His twin brother concurred. "Yeah, we're freezing our afts off out here. Let's get going."

"I didn't ask for your opinion on the weather, Sunstreaker. And Sideswipe, you are once again, incorrect," Prowl intoned. "We are missing someone."

Bluestreak rolled forward as if glancing around. "Really? Who? Do we need to go looking for them? Do you think they're okay? What if they got attacked by Decepticons? What if-"

The red twin nudged the other Datsun gently. "Blue, I don't think we have to worry about Decepticons attacking during this storm. Even _they're_ smart enough to stay inside..."

"Jazz is missing," Hound pointed out helpfully.

"Yes, Hound. And Bluestreak, I'm sure Jazz is fine. All of you head back and report to Ratchet for a quick scan. These freezing temperatures are new to us, and I want to be sure you are all operating normally after our foray into the snow."

"Yes, sir!" Sunny and Sides called in unison as they revved their engines and raced on toward the Ark. They certainly didn't need to be told twice. Bluestreak followed at a more sedate pace behind them.

Hound lingered a moment longer. "Would you like me to wait with you, Prowl?"

"No, thank you, Hound. I appreciate the offer, but please return with the others," the enforcer murmured.

Flashing his headlights in friendly acknowledgement, Hound drove away into the dark night and walloping, biting winds. Prowl settled more fully onto his wheels, waiting for Jazz to respond or arrive. After another joor passed slowly by, Prowl commed the saboteur once more. '_Jazz- do __you __copy? __Jazz, __where __are __you? __Please __respond._'

After a long moment, a static reply emerged. '_I __hear __ya, __Prowler. __Sorry, __I __was __helpin' __a __human __return home when I got caught for a bit in a drift. Reception out here is awful, especially with the storm._'

'_I am relieved to hear you are alright, Jazz_,' Prowl answered with a sigh, releasing the tension that had built itself up in his struts. '_Will you be able to make it to my coordinates? Local authorities have indicated the weather is worsening still by the minute.'_

_'I dunno. My systems are runnin' a bit low, and I hate ta admit it, but my alt form jus' ain't built fer this kinda weather. I think I'm gonna hunker down some place for the night and return in the mornin'_, ' Jazz said.

'_Do you require assistance?_' Prowl offered worriedly.

Jazz warmed at the concern he could hear in his lover's voice. '_Nah, I'll be fine. You go on back. I've found a sheltered nook at the end of this street that will be nice an' cozy fer a recharge_.'

'_If you're certain..._'

'_I am. Go on, I'll comm ya in the mornin'.'_

_'Alright. Good night, Jazz, and please, stay warm and be careful. …I love you.'_

'_Always am! 'Night and love ya, too. Jazz out_.'

Still feeling a bit unsettled and anxious, Prowl looked out on the empty white road once more before returning, following the already disappearing tire tracks of the others.

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><p>Systems humming online, Prowl sat upright. Something wasn't right. He looked around his empty quarters, and the night before came rushing back to him. The tactician gently rubbed his chevron in an attempt to shake off the last pleasant tingles of recharge. Standing, he left his quarters, which felt quite lonely without Jazz, and walked briskly to the entrance of the Ark. Prowl rebooted his optics in a double take.<p>

Did someone paint the entrance of the Ark white? Well, it would be an improvement over the orange…

Oh wait. That was snow.

A wall of it covering almost the entire entryway. Sighing heavily, Prowl tried to push his servos through it with no luck. Irrationally irritated at the white block effectively cutting him off from the outside, he withdrew his blaster from subspace and shot at the snow. A wet, sloshy puddle quickly formed at his feet as the snow melted in gobs from the heat. Flicking his doorwings free of the wet droplets, Prowl ventured outside and shuddered. The heat from his core clashed with the frigid air as steam gently rose from his armor.

Opening his comm line, the SIC got down to business. '_Prowl to Jazz. Are you awake? Please respond_.'

Groggily, Jazz became aware of an incessant ping going through his systems. Someone was trying to get through to him on the comms. He felt frozen inside and out. Slowly rocking his alt mode a bit in attempt to shake the snow that had accumulated over the last hours of the night, Jazz realized with alarm that his vision was fuzzy. Huh?

'_Jazz, are you there? Because if you are, and you're just ignoring me for five more minutes of recharge, I'm going to kick your aft._'

The saboteur would have chuckled at his lover's affectionate distress if he wasn't so confused about his own predicament. '_I'm here. I'm jus' tryin' to figure out why I can't see_.'

'_Primus, Jazz-when I call, I expect you to acknowledge at the very least. And I believe the humans have an ailment called snow blindness, but I hardly think that would apply to a mech. What can you see?_'

Trying to focus, the normally-visored mech amped up his sensors. '_Uh, it's kinda blurry. Whitish, maybe...I dunno._'

Shaking his helm back at the Ark, Prowl tried to suppress a smile. _'Jazz, I believe there's frost on your windshield.'_

'_Oh. Well, in that case, I'm fine_!' he said cheekily.

'_Wait for it to defrost while your systems warm up, and then head back. The roads shouldn't be too bad at this point.'_

_'Nah, I can see fine now. It's a little splotchy, but not bad.'_

Prowl warned, '_Don't you dare drive while visually impaired.'_

_'Sssssst, kkkkkch, what? Prowl, you're breakin' up. Repeat that last bit? Fffffst._' Jazz kicked his engine into gear and pulled onto the road home.

'_Jazz, stop it! I know you're making those sounds. Wait until the frost melts-'_

_'Losin' -kch- the -fffch- connection, -whrrr- Prowler!_'

The line cut out as Jazz ended the call. Prowl growled in frustration. "I'm going to fragging kill him." He stomped back inside the Ark muttering about ungrateful, reckless mechs.

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><p>Situated comfortably, and most importantly warmly, in his office, Prowl went through the datapads littering his desktop. It had been 20 minutes since Jazz had childishly cut him off. A ping to his comm line interrupted his train of thought. '<em>Prowl here<em>,' he answered absently.

'_Uh, hey Prowl!'_

_'Jazz? Where are you? I expected you to have returned by now.'_

_'Yeah, about that...there were only a few teeny, tiny frost patches left on my windshield. And what do ya know, a tree snuck up right in front of me behind one of those splotches...'_

_'So you hit a tree and now you're stuck in a snowy ditch on the side of the road.'_

_'Er, yeah. How'd ya know?'_

_'Just a hunch. Help should be arriving any moment.'_

_'But how would they get here so fast if I jus'-'_ Jazz felt himself go mute as he saw Hound and Trailbreaker approaching flashing their headlights in amusement. '_Slag. Yer good._'

'_Yes, I know_,' Prowl answered smugly.


	2. Coming Home

_Disclaimer: Don't own it._

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><p>Original publish date: 128/10

Prompt: Morning star  
>Verse: AUish Bayverse<br>Rating: K+  
>Warnings: Just a few TF swears; Beware the sweet fluffiness!<br>Summary: Jazz hasn't lost his way; he's just searching for one.

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><p><strong>Coming <strong>**Home**

Driving down the white road, Jazz continued steadily at a brisk pace. He wasn't in a terrible hurry, nor was he simply coasting along—somewhere drifting in between. He was tempted to floor it and take his chances spinning out on the frosty, slick road. The snow and sleet had fallen alternately in heavy sheets during the last few days. It left the 'bots cooped up and restless, unable to let out tension. And boredom. A spinout might give him a fun challenge, but ultimately decided against it. The CMO's cautionary words rang in his processor.

"You're free to go out for a drive, Jazz," Ratchet said obligingly, though his tone took on a serious edge. "But slag it, if you're not careful and get yourself fragged, you'll find yourself welded to the berth in your quarters so fast it'll make your tires spin."

The silver Solstice chuckled to himself at the irritated warning. He was perfectly fine; the saboteur just wished everyone else could see that. Thanks to Ratchet's tender care and the graciousness of the AllSpark fragment, his spark beat strongly in its casing. Sure, Megatron had torn him in half. And sure, it had taken a few years to put all of his Humpty Dumpty pieces together again. But he had been functioning perfectly fine for over an Earth year. He wasn't going to collapse, and Jazz had had enough of being coddled by the team he arrived to Earth with—namely Optimus, Ratchet, Ironhide, and even Bumblebee.

He was driving down a less well-traveled road. One where there were no plows or salt trucks to turn the white, wet fluffy stuff to slush. Jazz didn't mind at all. The salt annoyingly ate at their paint; the slush got stuck in their gears. The smooth glassy surface of the frozen road offered an interesting drive as he glided skillfully, as if he was skating like a human. His sleek alt-mode shined in the reflective ice despite the gloomy skies littered with smoky, grey clouds. He reveled in the barely-there touch of his tire treads beneath him and the cold wind slicing over his roof.

Though it was well below freezing temperatures and the chill cut through his core, Jazz felt _alive_. It was almost perfect. _Almost_.

Smoothly braking, Jazz came to a halt as the road came to a fork. The path twisted to the right toward a glen, looking tranquil in the dark night. The path curved to the left toward a small dip in the land. Too small to be considered a valley, but enough of a drop-off to create a dead-end in the road. He debated whether he wanted to continue his stimulating drive, but ultimately turned left to overlook the drop-off. Taking care to brake slowly before reaching the edge, the slim mech unfolded from his alt mode.

Jazz released warm air from his systems, watching the steam dissipate into the air. The harsh wind continued to whip around his plating as he let his visor dim, simply taking in the crisp air. It helped clear his processors, bringing clarity to his riotous thoughts. He had needed this, a moment to get away.

Things were lively at the base recently. With almost 20 mechs now calling Earth _home_, they were busier than ever. Everyone was enthralled by the holiday season. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker wanted to have a party, and they implored Jazz to help. As mech with a 'jolly, happy soul' (just like Frosty the Snowman, according to Sam), Jazz was more than happy to agree. He delighted in the music, the cheer, the warmth, and the joy the season had to offer.

All the same, even amidst all the planning and festivities, Jazz felt lost. He felt alone.

His visor lit a soft blue, glowing in the muted darkness around him. Gradually, Jazz realized it had begun snowing again. Not the furious snowfall of the last few days, but a gentle pristine blanket settling around him in its embrace. Morning was rapidly approaching. Casting one more look about the lightening night sky, he spied a brilliant blue twinkle streaming across the sky sending the clouds drifting like ripples on a pond. With a gasp, Jazz felt his spark pulse within his chassis and placed a servo gently over his chest where his spark continued to throb.

The Solstice felt a small smile tugging at his mouth on his faceplate. "He's home," he whispered, the wind stealing away his words. Transforming and racing toward the base, Jazz let his morning star guide him back.


	3. Wonderland

_Disclaimer: Don't own it._

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><p>Original publish date: 1215/10

Prompt: Walking in a winter wonderland  
>Verse: G1<br>Rating: K  
>Warnings: none, except sweet fluffiness!<br>Summary: The stars are brightly shining.

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><p><strong>Wonderland<strong>

The orn started off quietly enough. The _Ark_ was surrounded and blanketed by an ethereal canvas of nothingness. Crystals of snow had accumulated and settled gently onto every exposed surface. It made for less than ideal driving conditions, but most 'bots would agree it beat driving through mud. Until the snow melted into slush. But at the moment, the pristine white was tolerated, even marveled at by some of the more appreciative members of the crew.

Prowl worked diligently through his datapads and reports, blissfully uninterrupted. He even took time for a refueling break during mid-afternoon. His trip to the rec room and the energon dispenser was only delayed by the appearance of possibly the one mech the SIC wouldn't mind seeing.

"Actually bein' a good 'bot and gettin' a cube, Prowler?" Jazz asked with a charming smile. Throwing an arm around his lover's shoulder, he guided his fellow black and white to an empty table in the corner.

"Yes, Jazz. Contrary to popular belief, I do refuel. You know that. It's when I get continually sidetracked during my shift hours that makes me push aside retrieving my energon ration again and again," Prowl said, taking a seat.

Jazz drummed his fingertips on the table and hummed in agreement. "I know. I'm jus' teasin'."

The tactician allowed a gentle smile. "Why are you in the rec room at this hour? Aren't you off duty? I had thought you would be outside with the others enjoying the-what did Bumblebee call it? Winter wonderland?"

"I was out there fer a while. Had a snowball fight with the Twins and Blue. Made snow angels with Hound and Mirage. Even constructed a fort of amazin' proportions with Wheeljack and Perce, but my circuits were startin' ta freeze!" Jazz laughed, pretending to shiver.

Prowl enjoyed the smooth laughter and his smile grew a bit wider. "Is that so? I'm glad you were able to enjoy it."

The TIC leaned closer to his partner. "That's jus' the thing, Prowl. I didn't enjoy it as much as I could have."

Puzzled, the Datsun asked, "Why is that?"

"'Cause you weren't out there with me," the saboteur replied matter-of-factly.

"You know I have work to do. Several reports and inventory requests need to be looked over today."

"I know, but since ya seem to be havin' quite the productive shift… Would ya like to go out later with me?" Jazz inquired hopefully.

Processing the request for a moment, Prowl could not find any logical reason why he wouldn't have the time to engage in a social activity with his lover. It had been quite a while since they had done something together...alone. Enjoying each other's company. Yes, that sounded quite nice in fact.

"Very well, Jazz. I find myself amenable to that arrangement. Shall I meet you at the entrance at 17:30?" Prowl suggested, canting his helm a bit to the side.

The glowing blue visor in front of him visibly brightened in delight. "That sounds perfect, Prowler." Standing from his seat, Jazz circled around the table and carefully dragged one finger across an enticing doorwing. Prowl shivered ever so slightly at the ghostly touch. "See ya then."

Watching his lover's retreating aft as he exited the rec room, Prowl shook his head in amusement. He quietly sipped at the rest of his cube, discarded it properly, and returned to his office with a noticeable bounce in his step.

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><p>Cycling air through his vents in a satisfied sigh, Prowl signed off on the last datapad with a breem to spare. Logging off the internal network and systems, Prowl stretched his doorwings and arms as he stood with a few 'clinks' and 'clanks' from his tightly wound components. He exited his office and promptly arrived at the entrance of the Ark. Checking his internal chronometer, Prowl nodded in satisfaction at his punctuality. 17:30. Only a few astroclicks later, Jazz strolled around the corner. The TIC extended his hand to his partner and they left the Ark hand in hand. Prowl was quite ready for a peaceful walk in a winter wonderland.<p>

_In the lane, snow is glistening…A beautiful sight, we're happy tonight…_

It was chilly outside, certainly, but by no means unbearably unpleasant. The brisk air refreshed Prowl's processor. His audials delighted in the rhythmic 'crunch' 'crunch' 'crunch' of their pedes as they walked across the snow. Turning his helm to look behind them, his optics analyzed the impressions of their pedes left in the snow. His doorwing sensors tingled as the wind teased across his armor. Jazz silently noted his enjoyment, and they'd only been outside for a breem!

Interrupting Prowl's observations of their surroundings, Jazz softly said, "There's someplace I wanna take ya. Ya up fer it?"

Feeling open to just about anything at the moment, Prowl nodded. "Just lead the way."

Transforming, Jazz waited patiently for Prowl to follow suit and fold down into his alt mode. They took off at a sedate pace away from the Ark toward the city. After a brief 20 minute trip, Prowl slowed down as he saw Jazz's brake lights come on in front of him. They almost came to a standstill. It seemed as if there was some traffic. Barely crawling forward at a snail's pace, Prowl grew more and more curious. A large line of fir trees blocked his line of sight.

'_Is there a traffic jam, Jazz? Perhaps someone needs our assistance_,' the SIC called over their comm. channel.

Jazz offered a chuckle. '_Nah, everythin's fine. We're waitin' in line_.'

'_Waiting in line for what?_'

'_You'll see._'

Completely clueless as to what was running through his fellow officer's mind, Prowl resigned himself to waiting patiently for an answer to this conundrum. They began to roll forward again. Prowl wasn't sure, but he was almost certain it was getting brighter outside. It was still hours away from dawn-where was the additional light coming from? He came to another stop and observed a human approach Jazz on the driver's side of his alt mode. Jazz rolled his window down and the human seemed to be conferring with him. After a short conversation, the man in the red coat waved them forward.

'_Prowler, tune your radio station to 680 AM_.'

Prowl was thoroughly confused at this point. And it was still getting brighter! Nonetheless, Prowl did as he was told and tuned his radio to the aforementioned station. After a bit of searching and static, joyful Christmas music sang out from his speakers. '_Where are we, Jazz?_'

He didn't receive a reply. Turning through a sharp curve to the left, they came out of the line of trees that had been blocking their view of the road ahead of them. All at once, Prowl was overwhelmed by thousands and thousands of sparkling, twinkling lights shining brightly all around him. Some flickered in animated movement; others were shaped into intricate patterns. And the colors! A rainbow of blooming shades seemed to firework around him casting brilliant illuminations. Angels, snowflakes, skating penguins, carolers, Christmas trees, a train! The parade of lights winked on endlessly at them as they drove slowly by. The music streaming from their radios serenaded them with songs of the season.

'_So...what do ya think?_' Jazz asked quietly.

'_It's beautiful. Truly, it's wonderful_,' Prowl answered reverently.

The never-ending cascade of lights faded behind them as the road brought them back to the beginning. They turned back onto a main street and returned back to the Ark. Snow began its silent descent from the sky.

_Here to stay is a new bird…He sings a love song, as we go along…walking in a winter wonderland…_

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><p><em>AN: If you were confused by where they went, it's one of those drive-thru light shows. We have one in my hometown. You pay like $10 a car, tune your radio to a Christmas station, and drive through to look at all the lights. And there are a ton of lights! Very pretty. Thought it would make a fun outing for Prowl and Jazz. ^^_


	4. Bittersweet Wishes

_Disclaimer: Don't own it._

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><p>Original publish date: 1222/10

Prompt: "Think of all the fun I've missed/ Think of all the fellas that I haven't kissed"  
>Verse: G1ish<br>Rating: M/R  
>Warnings: TF swearin'; angst and melodrama; mechs interfacingsmut; plug 'n' play!  
>Summary: Sometimes you can't always get what you want. Fortunately, Prowl and Jazz find a way.<p>

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><p><strong>Bittersweet Wishes<strong>

"Jazz, I do not want to attend the Christmas party," Prowl said sternly, not even sparing a glance from the terminal at his desk.

Jazz huffed. "Oh, c'mon Prowl. You've practically been a shut-in since winter rolled in! You need ta socialize, get yer pumps movin', and get yer aft outta this office."

Irritation rising, Prowl raised his optics to his lover's form in front of him. "There is too much work to be done. The weather has wreaked havoc with our supplies and deteriorating system performance. The necessary upkeep of our protoforms is astounding, due to the constant freezing temperatures and stress of the elements on our systems. And more parties — like the Christmas party — are a waste of those precious resources."

"That's exactly why we need a party! It's a distraction for the crew — for us all. Ya think any of us wanna consider what'll happen after a few years on Earth in these types of conditions? We can't possibly predict how things are gonna turn out, so we may as well make the best of it," the TIC reasoned, crossing his arms over his chassis.

Prowl absently rubbed the crest of his chevron. He cycled air through his intakes with a frustrated grunt. He was tired. All the time. Just slagging _exhausted_. Physically and emotionally. And this situation was not improving his sullen mood. It was becoming an all too common, and unwelcome, occurrence in their tempestuous relationship.

"Jazz, I do not have the luxury of time at the moment. This needs no further discussion. You know my feelings on the matter. Now please, let me get some work finished," the Datsun said firmly.

Feeling his fists beginning to curl tightly, the saboteur decided he had had enough. "Fine. Hide here in yer office with yer slaggin' datapads and work yerself into a heap of scrap. I don't care what ya do anymore, Prowl. You can go frag yerself."

He pivoted on his heel and began storming out of the office. Disturbed by the volatile, acerbic words, Prowl abruptly stood and reached his hand out in protest. "Jazz, wait —"

Barely glancing back with a narrowed gaze behind his glinting visor, Jazz scowled. "Go ta the Pit."

The metallic office door slid open, then shut. Its closing click seemed to echo in the still room. Prowl's hand dropped in disbelief from its outstretched position over his desk. Collapsing back into his chair, the SIC's doorwings trembled faintly. Well…_that_ had gone quite horrendously.

"Slag. What have I done?" Prowl whispered forlornly. Only the sounds of the whirring terminal and his short intakes of air disturbed the stale silence. 

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><p>Stomping down the corridor, Jazz seethed. His pleasant mouth was twisted into a vicious frown. Each mech he passed by skittered nervously past him in fear of invoking an unspoken rage. Jazz turned the corner sharply and finally arrived at his quarters. He forcefully punched in his code, willing the door to open more quickly. It whooshed open and slid shut with a firm clunk and automatically reset the lock. You never could be too careful when working in special ops.<p>

Feeling utterly defeated, Jazz sat heavily upon his berth. He vaguely noted his hands were clenched once more in anger at his sides. The lithe black and white didn't understand how things had soured so quickly in his once fun, loving relationship with a certain Datsun.

Jazz had always respected the tactician, even before he directly worked with him under Prime. When they had begun collaborating on Cybertron as the war escalated, they spent more and more time in one another's company. Being the social creature that he was, Jazz eased some of his loneliness and chased away his fears in the warm berths of willing mechs and femmes. Some friends, some one-night stands. Even a few more serious relationships that just couldn't last.

His personal affection for Prowl grew as he found comfort and solace in his quiet company. The other black and white's musings were wry and stimulating — such a refreshing change from his normal playful flirting and banter with other mechs. It was a precious solitude he sought to protect and nurture. As Megatron's efforts and insidious plots with the Decepticons further intensified, Jazz's skill set was in high demand. He had less time for flings, and his only true joy was his brief periods of convalescence in which he attempted to spend every moment with Prowl.

It only made logical sense for Jazz to want to combine his needs. His deep friendship with Prowl could also serve as the foundation for a relationship with the tactician. Why couldn't he have both with him? But Prowl was different from his previous lovers. Jazz knew from personal observation, and small admissions from the mech himself, that Prowl's relationships were far and few between. And he was no casual berth hopper. Jazz had reasoned it made Prowl special. He would be worth the persistence.

In a valiant effort, Jazz stopped his casual 'facings. He chatted amicably with everybot just as before, but limited his interactions to public settings. He reined in his freewheeling antics as well, making careful considerations of how his actions would be perceived. Not by just anybot, but by Prowl. How would Prowl see him? Would he notice?

Indeed, being the astutely observant mech that he was, Prowl immediately took note of the strange behavioral changes in his companion. The tactician had grown so concerned, he finally confronted Jazz about it, and even suggested therapy might be in order to reacquire his jovial countenance. The smaller mech had laughed and laughed at Prowl's serious 'intervention.' He finally decided to come clean and reveal his intentions. Prowl was dumbfounded, to say the least. The admission resulted in a total processor crash.

Once he had recovered, Prowl tentatively, or perhaps it had been simply shyness, returned his sentiments. And thus, their 'odd couple' relationship began. Despite the wariness of many mechs regarding the possibility of success for their relationship, Prowl and Jazz flourished together. Jazz pushed Prowl beyond his restrictive boundaries, and the SIC had obligingly allowed it, seeing it as a chance for personal growth. No one, not even themselves, seemed to be aware it was a one-sided give and take.

As blissful as a relationship may be, reality checks are often heavy and burdensome. The preparation of the Ark's launch into space and the selection of a crew was a harried process taking endless considerations and deca-cycles of work. The time constraints placed on them were pressing, despite Prime's attempts to lessen their workloads. A war was being fought, as they were too often reminded, and sacrifices were necessary. Constantly drawn apart by work and demands, Prowl and Jazz saw less and less of one another in private settings. When the Ark finally departed for territories unknown, Jazz felt like Prowl was almost a stranger all over again.

As always, the unthinkable happened and they ended up in stasis for millions of years. Yet, despite the persistent antics of the Decepticons on Earth, the crew of the Ark, including its officers, had more leisure time than they had experienced in vorns (discounting their time in stasis, of course). Thrilled, Jazz immediately set to rekindling his fractured relationship with Prowl. Things were fine at first…various outings, amorous surprises, soft excited whispers and caresses. But the lingering tension from the rift born between them on Cybertron remained. Their petty arguments grew more frequent. Their outbursts more hurtful. Their peaceful moments seemed to evaporate. Some sort of resent seemed to be held by both mechs. All Jazz was asking for was a return to normalcy. Whatever that was.

What had changed?

Jazz grit his denta in frustration. Hadn't he given Prowl everything he had? Hadn't he shown his commitment, his willingness to remain loyal and true to only him? Standing, he began to pace the floor of his quarters. Think of all the fun he'd missed over the millennia. Think of all the mechs he hadn't kissed! And for _what_?

For Prowl.

Pausing, the saboteur spark pulsed at the thought of that particular designation. The black and white Datsun's handsome face popped into his processor. His vibrant red chevron. His striking deep blue optics. His sleek, elegant doorwings. His quiet, gentle demeanor.

They always had so much fun together. And they had shared so many wonderful kisses…

Slowly sitting down once more on his berth and shaking his helm, Jazz's spark filled with regret. His harsh words had been uncalled for. And he'd give anything to take them back. Burying his faceplates in his hands, Jazz woefully shuttered his optics. 

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><p>Beside himself with guilt, Prowl debated what to do as he sat idly in his office. Not doing any work at all. What a disaster.<p>

The Praxian mech was loathe to ever disappoint Jazz, and he certainly never meant to imply he was simply brushing him off. In truth, Prowl wouldn't mind attending a social gathering once in a while. He enjoyed mingling and interacting with mechs, albeit in calmer settings than Jazz typically preferred. But he had always done his best to push aside any misgivings and attempt to share the experience happily. However, with his workload and all too recent reminders of the Thanksgiving debacle that had taken 3 days to clean up, Prowl was hesitant to let down his guard during this additional holiday humans traditionally celebrated.

He couldn't seem to pinpoint where their relationship had taken a left turn from wonderful, a u-turn at okay, a traffic jam at despondent, and a complete spinout into disaster. Directional and driving metaphors aside, the tactician weighed his options. His battle computer offered two of the most plausible scenarios to carry out. He could admit defeat and cut his losses, saving himself from critical emotional distress in the long run._Or_…he could fight against logic and batter himself against Jazz's defenses until self-deactivation was imminent. Hmm. Neither seemed a pleasant experience, but such are the travesties of war — on and off an actual battlefield.

Determined to set things right, or at least try, Prowl signed off his terminal and exited his office. For the first time in orns, he headed to the rec room with a purpose unrelated to refueling. As he approached, holiday music joyfully sounded and reverberated right into his core. With one last nod to himself, Prowl stepped into the room. Green and red tinted lights flashed from the ceiling, casting the room into an interesting mishmash of mistletoe mayhem. Mechs littered the floor dancing happily to 'Jingle Bell Rock.' Venturing in a bit further, Prowl anxiously looked around for a twinkling blue visor amidst the crowd. Startled, he felt a buzz in his doorwings as a presence loomed behind him. It was his only warning before Sideswipe threw his arm around his shoulder.

"Prowl! To what do we owe the pleasure of your attendance at our fine festive feast?" the red mech laughed, waving around a cube of high grade.

Shrugging off the warrior's arm, he continued to look around. "Alliteration does not become you, Sideswipe."

"Huh?"

"Nevermind."

From Sideswipe's left, Mirage approached with a sad smile on his faceplates. "He's not here, Prowl."

"Who's not here?" Bluestreak asked, overhearing and approaching Prowl's right side.

"Jazz," Prowl murmured with a frown.

The gunner's doorwings fluttered in surprise. "Really? I hadn't noticed. Where is he?"

"I saw him stalking to his quarters a few joors ago. He's probably still there," Mirage offered.

Nodding, Prowl said, "Thank you."

Before heading to his destination, Prowl paused outside the rec room gathering his courage and discarding his pride. Should Jazz actually admit him to his quarters, he would attempt to make amends. The walk to the officers' quarters seemed endless; the floor mockingly stretched out before him. But Prowl's pedes carried him resolutely onward. He was absolutely determined to find a solution to their problems…Or. Well, there just couldn't be an _or_. It was unacceptable. 

* * *

><p>Jazz lifted his aching helm at the soft chime from his door. He had fallen into a fitful recharge during his descent into hopelessness. His words to Prowl haunted him, unable to retract them or change the past.<p>

To say Jazz was surprised to see Prowl outside his door would be an unforgivable understatement. Disbelief etched across his features, Jazz just stared. "Er, may I come in?" Prowl asked, staring at his pedes.

Saying nothing, because he was currently unable to vocalize anything, Jazz stepped aside and allowed the tactician to enter the room. His door sealed itself shut once more. Prowl walked to the center of the room and felt his doorwings begin to shake again. _Enough. Say what you have to say! _He encouraged himself internally.

Turning to face Jazz, Prowl raised his helm and doorwings high in unison — ready to make his final stand. Looking straight at Jazz, his optics seemed to find the saboteur's azure optics even behind his glossy visor.

Jazz fidgeted nervously, wondering what words would possibly emit from Prowl's vocalizer. Was he here to 'officially' end things? Did he come to get the final word on the matter?

"I am sorry," Prowl simply began.

The smaller mech in the room felt his pumps fluttering. "Huh?"

"I apologize for making your concerns seem irrelevant. You know my excessive dedication to my work is unhealthy, as well as inappropriate," Prowl murmured. He cautiously stepped forward and took Jazz's hands within his own. "It creates a wall between us. And Jazz…I truly dislike it when something comes between us, especially when it is of my own creation."

Unable to keep from wistfully smiling, Jazz shook his helm. "Nah, Prowler…it's not just yer creation. The fault is mine, too. I said some awful things to ya earlier. I've been pushin' ya too hard, fer too long. I get that ya need time ta yerself. But at Christmas? Mech, it's time for a real break once in a while."

"I know."

With a slight hesitation, Jazz withdrew his hands from Prowl's grasp. He missed the flash of disappointment cross his partner's visage. "There's another thing I wanna talk about…"

Prowl said, "Anything you wish."

"Is this goin' anywhere, Prowl? I mean, I have loved spendin' almost every moment of this relationship with ya, 'cept for the fights, but who doesn't have those? But I gave up a lot ta be with ya. I stopped seein' other mechs 'cause I wanted to be exclusive with just you. I toned it down a few notches. And I appreciate what you've done in the past, tryin' to please me when we go out for a bit o' fun, but I just want you ta be you."

It was Prowl's turn to shake his helm. "I am still Prowl. That has never changed. You brought a new pulse to my life, Jazz. There's nothing wrong with trying to 'improve' my social skills. You've never deliberately tried to change my identity. But I wish you would stop trying to change _yourself _for me."

"What do ya mean?" Jazz questioned him, truly puzzled.

"I never asked you to 'tone it down'. Your vibrancy and resplendent outlook on life is what drew me to you. You made sacrifices about your personality and behavior that were never necessary. Though it would have been less than ideal, I would even be willing to allow you to stray from me if it allowed you to feel free and happy. You're wonderful…just the way you are," Prowl whispered as he stepped closer to Jazz. Slowly, he lifted his hands to caress the sides of his face and sweetly pressed a small kiss upon his forehelm.

Shuttering his optics, Jazz felt his spark buzz pleasantly in its casing. With all these shaking and fluttering components, you would think he was falling apart and due for a maintenance check with Ratchet! Raising a hand to stroke Prowl's helm, he said, "Yer wonderful, too. Perfect…"

Lost in the gentle caress, Prowl hummed happily as Jazz pressed his eager lips against his. A slick glossa swept across his mouth begging for entrance, which he readily granted. Their glossae hungrily pressed against each other as they relished the sweetness shared between them. Their energy fields crackled to life, an electric blue shock running through their systems.

Perhaps their argument had been too easily resolved. Perhaps they should discuss things further and examine how to prevent the issue from resurfacing. Definitely, there would be more fights and conflicts. But in this moment, they had discovered a pivotal cornerstone of their relationship. They accepted one another just as they were — finally, after so much time had already passed. And acceptance, given time and nurturing, could certainly grow into a fully fledged, spark-deep love.

Prowl began to gently rub the short horns protruding from his lover's helm. If they could move of their own accord, Jazz was sure they would lightly twitch in Prowl's tender grasp. He leaned into the caresses and pressed for more. Jazz's arms tightened around him pulling his warm form closer to his body. They never parted as Prowl slowly lowered the saboteur down to his nearby berth. Pausing momentarily, the tactician hovered above him.

To hold Jazz once more in his arms, Prowl knew it felt incredibly reassuring.

To share a heated kiss again with Prowl, Jazz was quite certain there was nothing better.

While neither mech could be sure as to why it felt so right, they did know they never wanted the feelings to end.

Jazz's arms tightened around the Datsun's neck, pulling his mouth closer. Persuasively, his glossa skimmed along pliable, cool lips, and Prowl yielded once more. The warmth of Prowl's welcoming cavern deeply pleased and comforted his lonely being on so many levels. This is what Jazz had needed…what he had been missing. Prowl's glossa playfully swatted at his, and the battle between their lips began anew.

Cooling fans furiously working to lower their core temperatures, they parted with ragged breaths drawn through their vents. Prowl noted Jazz's beautiful face was flushed from the heat passing between them. He rested his forehelm against his partner's, enjoying the quiet moment between them, save for the sound of their heavy pants.

Feeling rather playful, Jazz rubbed his nose against Prowl's and then began to nuzzle his face into the cables lining his neck. Unseen, the tactician allowed a small, content smile to grace his normally stoic features. Eager to return to their frantic, earlier pace, Jazz set to rekindling the flames of desire. With an arduous resolve, the visored mech firmly stroked the doorwings displayed above him. The response was immediate with a wanton groan from the mech settled over his frame. His enthusiastic touches continued as he traced delicate paths across Prowl's tremulous doorwings. The smooth metal quickly grew hot beneath his fingers, and their energy fields teased and tickled as they pressed together.

Far from idle, Prowl rained light kisses upon his brow, optics, cheeks, nose, lips, and chin. His path continued downward upon his body. The movements, though most welcome, forced Jazz to relinquish his hold on the doorwings. Trailing his glossa across the saboteur's headlights, zigzagging across his abdomen, and sliding across the seam between his codpiece and thigh, Jazz release a high pitched, keen cry in response.

"Prowl…ohh, more!" Jazz moaned.

The taller mech found it unbelievably fulfilling to hear his name fall from Jazz's succulent lips. He extracted more moans and whimpers digging his fingers into the seams lining the special ops mech's body finding delicate cables and wires to stroke and tug. In return, Prowl whispered his name reverently. "Jazz..."

Prowl let his hands loosen their hold and moved to grasp Jazz's wrists to pin them above his helm. A blue visor flashed as he licked his lips, but Jazz quickly recovered from his surprise offering a sultry smile. The tactician's circuits buzzed at the sight of his suggestive smile.

With a slight growl, Prowl grinded his lower body against the one below him. Jazz gasped in delight and threw his head back in pleasure. In a flurry of movements and passing moments, their energy fields flared unhindered by restraint and self-control. Hands desperately groped for any surface they could reach, glossae wildly entangling. In this moment and race toward such gratifying pleasure, just the sight of one another was enough to make them wish never to be apart again. Here — together — they would attempt to banish all their fears and dark thoughts.

"Nnh, Prowl!" Jazz groaned, as their lips parted for a brief moment. "End it, please! I need ya."

Prowl shook with need at his lover's words. "Primus, Jazz!"

Coming undone, he pawed at Jazz's frame, sliding his hands in down to his closed panel. With a swift touch, it clicked open. Releasing his own panel, the Datsun felt Jazz squeeze his frame more tightly. Feeling for Jazz's cable, without hesitation, he inserted it into his own port. To complete the connection, he plugged his cable into Jazz's port.

The stream of data exhilarated them as it pulsed through their systems. They immediately began melding their frames in a sensual dance of intertwining limbs. Their caresses from earlier picked up, as they pleaded for more. Frenzied hands searched for one another to grasp as a rhythm of electricity raced across the cables. The inferno of heat rose ever higher. Internal fans had long ago shut down in the futile attempt to bring temperatures within normal limits.

Emotions and thoughts, belonging to them both, flashed in their processors. Delicious, delectable, divine, oh so perfect. Above all, an endearing affection…so pure, so real. Could this be love?

They were engrossed in a wet and coppery kiss, as Jazz arched his back struts off the berth. It was all becoming too much to handle. With a breathy moan, Jazz felt his overload scorch and tear its way through his systems, leaving everything burning and frazzled. The feedback looped through their connection and sent Prowl into shattering bliss. Just before falling into the blackness of stasis, they both felt a pulse from their sparks—unsure as to what triggered it. 

* * *

><p>With a groan, Prowl felt his systems sluggishly come online. Shakily, he lifted himself from Jazz's stirring form and lay on his side tucked close to the saboteur. Throwing his arms over his visor, Jazz stretched languidly with a satisfied smile. "If there was ever such a thing as processor-blowing interfacin', that was it."<p>

Prowl chuckled warmly. "It was one of our better rounds, wasn't it?"

"I'll say," Jazz purred as he turned to nuzzle under Prowl's chin.

Growing serious, the tactician said, "I can't promise we'll never fight again…"

Sobering a bit, Jazz nodded into Prowl's chassis. "'Cause we will. I know."

"But I _can _promise that I'll fight to make this relationship work, while we're both willing, of course."

"Same here. Ya know, Prowler…I think I might love ya."

"I think I may love you, too. Merry Christmas, Jazz."

"Merry Christmas, my mech. Now get over here and give me another kiss."


	5. Kindred Spirits

_Disclaimer: Don't own it._

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><p><em><em>AN: The next few I'll be posting were written in September 2010 for the Anniversary Challenge.__

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><p>Original publish date: 94/10

Prompt: Toddlers  
>Verse: G1ish<br>Rating: G/K  
>Warnings: none<br>Summary: Prowl and Jazz try out a new set of sparkling sitters.

* * *

><p><strong>Kindred Spirits <strong>

Prowl sighed irritably as he noticed his bondmate glance back down the hallway for the fourth time.

"Jazz, relax — they'll be fine. Let's go out and enjoy a long drive," he urged.

"I jus' don't know, Prowl. Each step away from them is agonizin'. And leaving our sparklings with _them_?" Jazz asked impertinently.

"They are perfectly capable of looking after other beings," the Datsun reasoned. He stepped around the saboteur to gently lay his hands upon his shoulders. Softly, he caressed Jazz's shoulders in a comforting gesture.

Jazz sighed. "We've never left Ambient with 'em before — even prior ta Impeller's sparking. Why leave both of 'em now?"

"Because none of our normal sitters were available. And the Twins never showed any interest in watching them before. Sideswipe approached me about it yesterday morning," explained the SIC.

"Shouldn't _that _alone make ya suspicious?" his mate demanded looking at him over his shoulder.

Prowl let his hands drop in frustration. "Of course, it did. Do you honestly think I would have left my offspring with those two unless I had considered every angle?"

"I guess not," Jazz conceded. "So what didja turn up?"

Doorwings flicked absentmindedly. "I admit, I was stumped, so I just cornered Sideswipe and questioned him. He said he always wanted to look after Ambient when she was sparked — recall how much he enjoyed holding her?"

"Yeah, I do," Jazz murmured with a fond smile.

"He said Sunstreaker was never particularly interested in allowing a noisy, messy sparkling in their quarters, and Sunny found them...boring. As you know, sparklings don't do much at first. So, now that our progeny are the equivalent of toddlers — Sideswipe reasons they're more 'fun' and Sunny thinks them to be less of a nuisance."

Jazz heartily laughed. "Guess they never heard 'bout bath time."

"Indeed," Prowl said with a chuckle. He was pleased to see Jazz smiling again. "Just as well, I figure they'll benefit from the experience."

Nodding his assent, Jazz lightly stroked Prowl's cheek. "Well, if ya think the Twins can handle 'em, then I think so too. Let's get goin' — we're wastin' daylight!" With that, Jazz grabbed his wrist and dragged him along. They continued to the entrance of the _Ark_in a companionable silence and transformed for a pleasant afternoon drive.

* * *

><p>A few joors later, at twilight, they returned walking hand in hand. They quietly talked and laughed, enjoying their precious alone time together. Nonetheless, both their sparks ached to hold their sparklings once more.<p>

"They're growin' up so fast," Jazz commented as they turned the corner into the hallway of Sideswipe and Sunstreaker's quarters.

"Yes, they are. But we'll revel in every moment we share with them," Prowl said, squeezing his mate's hand lovingly. Jazz returned the gesture with a brilliant smile. Soon enough, they arrived at the door. At the chime of the buzzer, the door slid open. The sight before them was...surprising.

The room was in a pleasant chaos full of disarray and laughter. On the floor, covered in various paints and a rainbow of vivid colors, Sunstreaker and Ambient swirled their fingers around the paper on the floor. Much of the paint ended up on the floor itself. Ambient's pale blue optics shined brightly, a determined, thoughtful expression on her small face. Her glossa stuck out her mouth in concentration as she hummed a tune she had heard Jazz singing a few days ago.

In a moment of disbelief, the pair of black and whites watched as Ambient smeared black paint in the shape of a smiley face on Sunny's gleaming golden chest armor. She wiped her paint covered hands on her legs, making more of a mess.

She nodded and gave her 'canvas' instructions accompanied by a light push. "Lay down, Sunny! Put your arms and legs out."

Prowl gave a gentle cough at the demand. Ambient's face turned down as she remembered her manners. "I mean, _please _lay down, Sunny."

Sunny surprisingly did as he was told in the middle of the blue and white painted sheets strewn about the floor.

"Look, look!" She tugged anxiously on her creators' hands. "It's the sky! And a happy sun spreading rays of joy!"

And it was — the blue was the sky, white the clouds, and Sunny as, well, the sun with a smiley face.

Jazz smiled warmly. "It's beautiful, Ambient. Yer such a creative little 'bot."

Her face glowed, immensely pleased with the praise. "It's a form of mixing genies."

Prowl frowned in confusion. "Mixing genies?"

"She means genres," Sunstreaker explained as he sat up. "Different mediums of art."

"Ah," the SIC nodded in amusement.

He then noticed Sideswipe sitting on the floor in front of his berth with Impeller perched on the edge. He raised his hands to cover his faceplate, specifically his optics. At first, Prowl thought they were playing peek-a-boo. However, when Sideswipe uncovered his optics, Impeller made a silly face, then another and another. Each face was accompanied by exaggerated movements of his tiny doorwings. Sides dramatically reacted to each face in terror or made a face of his own.

While Jazz examined Ambient's doodles more closely, Prowl walked over closer to the red twin and his youngest creation. Impeller's optics brightened in recognition and reached eagerly for his creator, his doorwings fluttering in excitement. Noticing this action, Sideswipe turned in surprise. "Oh, hi sir! Didn't see you there. Were you a ninja in a previous life?"

Picking up Impeller and tickling him under his chin, Prowl gave the red Lamborghini a wry smile. "No, Sideswipe, I was not a ninja. You're just incredibly inept at recognizing the presence of another mech."

Straightening to his full height from his crouch, Sides gave his own smirk. "Maybe, but ya know, Diffusion is an awful lot like human martial arts."

Shaking his head, Prowl turned back to face Jazz, Ambient, and Sunstreaker. Impeller spoke up in his small, bell-like voice, "I missed you, daddy."

Prowl's blue optics softened. "I missed you, too, Impeller. Did you have fun with Sideswipe and Sunstreaker?"

Ambient piped up from her position high upon Jazz's shoulders. "Oh yes! They're not as cranky as Ratchet or as grumpy as Ironhide."

"That's just 'cause they need more recharge naps," Impeller murmured wisely, nestled in the crook of Prowl's arms. He let loose a wide yawn.

Sunstreaker drawled, "Glad to know we're more fun than those bolt buckets."

Ambient giggled, and then released a yawn of her own.

Jazz smiled knowingly. "Alright young mechlets, I think it's time ta get ready fer recharge."

"Can we hear a story?" Ambient asked quietly as she rested her head on top of Jazz's, mindful of his horns.

"A short one," Prowl said. They went to the door and thanked the Twins for their services.

"Yeah, thanks guys. You were apparently a big hit," the saboteur said.

The yellow twin waved his hand. "It was nothing."

"Yeah, not a problem. Bring 'em back soon!" Sideswipe proclaimed, throwing his arm around Sunny's shoulder.

"Say thank ya ta Sides and Sunny," Jazz prompted.

A tired murmur of "Thank you" emerged from each sparkling. Sideswipe reached forward to give each of them a pat on the head. "See ya, Miscreant. Later, Imp."

"Miscreant?" Prowl said with a raised optic ridge.

Sunny shrugged good-naturedly. "It rhymes with Ambient. Kind of. Besides, did you see the mess she helped me make?"

Jazz ushered his mate away while thanking the Twins one more time before Prowl could comment further. "Relax, Prowl. They're jus' nicknames. I think they're cute."

"Jazz, they just called our daughter a miscreant and our son an imp," Prowl clarified.

"Yeah, I know. An adorable miscreant," Jazz said while poking Ambient on the nose. She giggled again in response. "And a delightful imp." He reached over to tickle Impeller's middle, which was received with a happy laugh.

"Fine," Prowl conceded as they entered their quarters. "So long as you admit the Twins were just fine as sparkling sitters."

The TIC nodded. "I'd say they did great! Wonder how they did that?"

"It's because the Twins are overgrown toddlers themselves," Prowl explained matter-of-factly.

* * *

><p><em>AN: If you're wondering where I came up with the names for Prowl and Jazz's sparklings, I work at a technical publishing company and came across the terms while editing one of our books. Thought they made for cute 'bot names._


	6. Ruckus

_Disclaimer: Don't own it._

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><p><em><em>AN: This was a second response I had written for the "Toddlers" prompt that didn't get as developed as the first.__

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><p>Original publish date: 94/10

Prompt: Toddlers  
>Verse: G1ish<br>Rating: T/PG-13  
>Warnings: Rating is just for a mention of sexual deviance<br>Summary: Somebody needs a timeout.

* * *

><p><strong>Ruckus<strong>

Jazz stormed into the SIC's office, pushing aside the chair in front of the desk. He shoved away the stack of datapads in front of him, then snatched the pad in Prowl's hand. He didn't say a word — just heavily cycled air through his vents. Seething.

Unbothered by this angry display, Prowl looked up into Jazz's brightly glowing visor. "Is something the matter, Jazz?" he asked calmly.

The saboteur snorted. "Yer jokin', right? You'd hafta be jokin' if ya don't know what has got my wires in a twist."

Prowl's doorwings twitched at the comment. "I assure you, I haven't a clue as to the reason for your abrupt arrival or disheveled state."

The other black and white laughed in disbelief. "Yer crazy. Ya know that?"

"It has been suggested before," Prowl replied, folding his hands neatly.

"Well, I don't care if yer crazy or jus' stupid, but I won't do it," Jazz insisted crossing his arms.

"Do what?" Prowl asked innocently.

"Slag it, Prowl!" Jazz yelled. He pulled a cracked datapad from subspace and tossed it onto the desk. He jabbed the screen viciously with his finger. "This is a bogus, ridiculous assignment!"

"You're being unreasonable, Jazz," Prowl said as he swiftly stood. Walking around his desk, he sat on its edge in front of the furious mech. "You're the most qualified mech for the job."

"Not my problem! I could lose a limb!" he argued.

"I hardly think such a thing would happen," Prowl said. He could feel Jazz glaring at him through his visor.

"Why not ask Blaster? He's got moves," Jazz suggested.

"Because Blaster is unavailable, and your moves are better."

"But — "

"No buts. Prime requested you specifically to teach him how to dance and that is that," Prowl closed succinctly.

Jazz buried his helm in his hands. "Primus must hate me. Prime is the worst dancer. He's got two left pedes and terrible balance. I'm gonna get crushed."

"Oh, come now, Jazz. Stop acting like a petulant sparkling. You're as bad as a human toddler throwing a tantrum," Prowl scoffed.

Raising his head suddenly, Jazz had a thought. "And jus' why does Prime feel the need ta develop a dance repertoire all of a sudden?"

Prowl shrugged. "I may have mentioned it would be beneficial to know."

Jazz scowled as something dawned on him. "Yer doin' this ta me jus' because I pulled that prank with the Twins, isn't it? That's awfully petty of ya, Prowl. Who's actin' like a sparkling now?"

"Yes, I suggested it to Prime. I have been acting like a sparkling," Prowl admitted. "Are you going to punish me, Jazz?"

"Well, at least ya admitted — wait, what?" Jazz stared in incredulity as Prowl gave him a smoldering look.

The Datsun drew to within an inch of Jazz's face. He whispered, "You heard me. I need to be punished for my selfish actions. I was thinking a timeout."

Jazz mumbled something incoherent as Prowl trailed his fingers along his transformation seams. "Uh?"

"Perhaps a spanking? Or maybe placed under room arrest?" Prowl asked, nudging his nose against the saboteur's. "Interfacing and fragging my circuits until I've learned my lesson?"

Finally, Jazz's processor caught up to him, and he gleefully grinned. "Oh, I think that can be arranged."


	7. I Need Some Lovin'

_Disclaimer: Don't own it._

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><p>Original publish date: 98/10

Prompt: Oblivious  
>Verse: G1ish<br>Rating: T/PG-13  
>Warnings: Just a sexually frustrated Jazz<br>Summary: Jazz knew Prowl was sometimes oblivious to his attentions, but this is just ridiculous.

* * *

><p><strong>"I Need Some Lovin'!"<strong>

"Hey Jazz, how's Prowl doing?" Bluestreak called from a table to the right in the rec room as he spotted the saboteur striding in for his energon ration.

Jazz filled a cube and had a seat. "Much better, Blue. Ratchet said he took care of whatever malfunction Prowl experienced durin' the battle. Somethin' 'bout turnin' off a subroutine so it has a chance to reboot on its own. He'll be outta medbay later tonight and should be back ta 100 percent soon. "

"Aw, so soon? Thought Ratchet might have mercy on us and keep him overnight at least," Sideswipe teased.

"That's 'cause Ratch knows Prowl can handle you crazies no matter what state he's in," Jazz chuckled. The occupants of the table laughed along with him, knowing he was absolutely right. The TIC knocked back the rest of cube and stood to leave.

Bumblebee protested his early departure. "You just got here, Jazz! You said Prowl won't be out of medbay until later. Stay and hang out with us."

"Thanks fer the invite, Bee, but I wanna surprise Prowl in our quarters…" he trailed off with a grin. "See ya mechs tomorrow. Smokey, don't be surprised if I show up late fer our patrol in the mornin'."

Smokescreen laughed. "Oh, no matter what you do tonight, I doubt Prowl would let you be late for a shift."

"Touché," he said, turning with a wink of his visor and exited the rec room. He had a few things to prepare for a lovely night with his lover…

* * *

><p>"Now, although I was able to target the area of your processor that resulted in your error-driven shutdown, I'm not entirely sure how it will affect your behavior, if at all. Come to me immediately if you feel anything unusual," Ratchet lectured his patient with his arms crossed.<p>

Sliding off the berth and onto his pedes, the Autobot SIC flexed his doorwings to relieve some tension. "I feel quite satisfactory at the moment, Ratchet. Thank you for your services. I'll be sure to inform you if I encounter any difficulties."

"Hmpf. Just try to get some actual rest, okay?" the CMO gruffed. "Don't let Jazz wear you down."

The tactician looked at the medic oddly, as if he couldn't quite discern what he meant. "Good evening, Ratchet." Prowl clasped his hands behind his back and exited the medbay.

The walk to his shared quarters with Jazz was a short one, and he arrived in no time. Entering the code, the door slid open. The room was dimly lit, pleasant music playing quietly in the background. His optics were greeted with the sight of his lover sitting comfortably on their berth reading a datafile.

Jazz's visor brightened at the appearance of the other black and white. "Hey Prowler! Why didn't ya comm. me to say ya were leavin' Ratchet's tender care? I woulda gone ta escort ya." He stood, placed the datafile aside, and wrapped his arms around Prowl's waist.

Pulling him close, he gave Prowl a quick peck on his lips. Jazz tightened his hold and snuggled under the taller mech's chin. "How ya feelin'?"

"Much better, thank you."

Jazz rubbed his cheek gently against the warm armor of Prowl's chest. "That's good. So, I was thinkin'…maybe we could _play_ a little tonight?"

"Ratchet told me not to let you wear me down. I believe this must be what he was referring to," Prowl replied stiffly, extracting himself from Jazz's embrace.

The saboteur gave a small pout. "Aw, c'mon, Ratch was just jokin'. I'm sure of it. Let's get our circuits runnin' a little hot, hm?"

Prowl shook his head. "No, Jazz. I require rest, and if I'm not mistaken, you have a shift tomorrow morning. And for that matter, just how heated do you think we could get from playing chess? It hardly requires enough processor power to result in overheating."

The tactician laid down upon the berth and offlined his optics. "Good night, Jazz."

Slightly dumbfounded, Jazz waited briefly for Prowl to sit up and say he was kidding. Surely, he had to be joking. Prowl thought he was talking about playing chess? He knew his lover to be oblivious to many matters, but _seriously_? Mistaking chess for interfacing?

When Prowl didn't suddenly bolt upright waving his doorwings around and shout, "Surprise! Just messing with you!", Jazz shrugged and pushed aside his disappointment. Prowl was probably just tired after his stay in medical and needed some rest. They could have 'playtime' tomorrow night.

* * *

><p>"Hey Jazz! Thought you were going to be late this morning?" Smokescreen laughed while lightly hitting Jazz on the shoulder. Jazz just gazed at him forlornly. "Jazz? You okay?"<p>

"Prowl wasn't really in the mood fer fun last night," he mumbled. "Let's get goin'."

Smokescreen knew well enough to avoid any prodding. They folded down into their alt modes to begin their patrol. They drove along for a few miles in silence.

"Well, that's understandable. He did just get out of medbay. I'm sure he didn't mean anything by it," Smokescreen continued their conversation.

"I know, Smokey. I guess I jus' got myself excited ta spend time with him," Jazz admitted. "But I've got plans fer us tonight that I know Prowl won't be able ta ignore!"

The other Datsun encouraged him. "Keep at him, Jazz! No way can he resist your charms."

"Tell me somethin' I don't know, mech!"

* * *

><p>That evening, Jazz carefully prepared their quarters. He lit scented candles and selected appropriate mood music to serenade a resistant lover. A can of wax, given as a favor from Sunstreaker, sat beside the berth. A little personal attention would have Prowl begging for his touch.<p>

The door slid open revealing the other black and white mech. Prowl held a datapad in his hand and a stylus in the other, diligently marking notes. He didn't even glance up upon entering the room.

"Evenin', Prowler," Jazz greeted warmly.

"Hello, Jazz," Prowl sighed and placed the data pad on the desk against the wall. He sat down in the chair, rubbing his optics.

"Rough day, lover?" Jazz asked, placing his hands gently on Prowl's doorwings. He dragged his fingers along the edges in a soft caress.

Prowl nodded. "A bit. Lots of reports to catch up on."

"Well, I think I got a remedy fer that. Jus' the thing ta get ya re-energized," he said. Jazz slipped his hands further down. He delicately pressed along the seams of the tactician's bumper, tracing his headlights.

"That sounds wonderful, Jazz."

"Really? Great! So I thought we could start with — "

"I completely forgot to get my energon ration for the evening. Thank you for reminding me. It'll give me a greatly needed boost." The SIC stood, extracting himself from Jazz's attentive hands and kissed him on the forehead. "Don't wait up for me. I'm going to try to get some more things done in my office before recharging."

The door slid open and shut, leaving Jazz alone. _Again_.

"Well, slag," Jazz cursed in disbelief.

* * *

><p>A third day passed by…and evening came about once more. Jazz was determined to get through to his lover. By being direct.<p>

Prowl entered the quarters. Jazz grabbed his wrist and pulled him close.

Whispering hotly into his audio, Jazz breathed, "I want ya. Right now." His glossa outlined the edge of his helm, traveling across the tips of Prowl's vibrant chevron. "What do ya say?"

"Whatever you need me for, Jazz, it will need to wait. Wheeljack is waiting for me in his lab. I just came back here to retrieve a datapad on his project," Prowl stated matter-of-factly.

Jazz recoiled from him as if he had been struck. "Huh?"

"Have a pleasant evening. I'm sure you'll be in recharge by the time I return," Prowl informed him. Grabbing his errant datapad, he vanished out the door.

Finally registering what had occurred, the saboteur let his shoulders slump. Gritting his denta, Jazz decided to take a different approach.

* * *

><p>A rainy fourth day passed by… and evening arrived right on time. Jazz had concocted a new plan — he would seduce Prowl!<p>

He had carefully scattered rose petals all about the room and on the berth. After persuading (coercing) a disgruntled Sideswipe to help him, Jazz laid on the berth with his arms and legs spread wide. All of his limbs were restrained by magnetic cuffs attached to the corners of the berth.

Jazz wiggled in a vain attempt to get more comfortable. It didn't matter — Prowl would get there soon and their fun could begin. After all, how could he ignore such a delectable opportunity?

So he waited patiently. And waited. And waited. And waited. What was taking him so long? His shift ended over a joor ago.

Suddenly, Jazz's comm. came to life. "_Prowl to Jazz_."

"Jazz here. Where are ya, Prowler?"

"_I'm stuck in town. The storm has worsened, so I won't be returning until morning when the weather has cleared._"

"But I, but…but…"

"_So glad you understand. See you tomorrow. Prowl out_."

Jazz looked at his precarious situation. Well, this was going to be embarrassing… "Jazz ta Prime…I need help with somethin'."

* * *

><p>A fifth day arrived…and dragged on until evening. Jazz would have his mech! He would tantalize Prowl with sexy messages all day.<p>

Throughout the day, he sent private messages to the SIC, not so carefully hiding his lecherous intent. A naughty comment here, a suggestive sentiment there. It had to be driving Prowl _crazy_, and when they met in their quarters at night, he wouldn't be able to contain himself.

Jazz awaited eagerly for his lover to come to their room. The saboteur had gotten himself quite riled up from sending message after message after message. He couldn't wait to launch himself at Prowl and jump his circuits.

Unfortunately, his waiting proved futile. His comm. crackled to life once more. "_Ratchet to Jazz_."

"'S'up, Ratch?" Jazz answered disconsolately, hoping it would at least be Prowl contacting him.

"_Would you please come collect Prowl from the medbay?_" Ratchet asked irritably. "_I can't carry him by myself_."

He sprang to his feet. "What happened? Why is Prowl offline?"

"_Some fragger filled up Prowl's message inbox to its capacity. The overload of messages clogged up his data systems. I had to clean it up and delete them. Probably the work of some prankster._"

Jazz sighed in defeat. Oops. "I'll be right there, Ratch."

* * *

><p>A sixth day came and went…bleeding into the evening hours. Jazz was running out of ideas. So he decided to pull out all the stops.<p>

With Hoist's help, he temporarily installed a pole into the main room of their quarters. Jazz listened intently for Prowl's return to their quarters. The door swished open and he hit play on the music player. Sultry sounds and smooth rhythms bounced from the speakers, and Jazz began as he sensed Prowl's approach.

Gracefully, he twisted around, up and down the silver pole. He grinded his panel against the cold metal, straddling his legs around it — imagining himself winding his body around Prow's trim waist. Offlining his optics, Jazz lost himself to the music and the knowledge that Prowl was watching him. He groaned, feeling his plating escalating in temperature. His circuitry sang, sizzling as the song reached its peak. At the song's finish, Jazz swung neatly to the floor.

"Holy Primus!" Prowl gasped.

_Finally_! Jazz smirked and onlined his optics to gaze at his lover…who was staring at ceiling?

"Prowler?" Jazz questioned in a raspy tone, still recovering from his performance.

"We have a crack the size of a space bridge in our ceiling! I need to talk to Hoist to see if he can fix that. Oh, and I should inform Red Alert of it as a possible security risk." The Datsun turned on his heel and left the room.

Jazz was utterly shocked. Disappointed and feeling vastly hurt and ignored, he stood from the floor. He glared at the silver pole. "This is all yer fault."

* * *

><p>A seventh day passed…and Jazz didn't care if it was evening or not. Clearly, at some point in the last week, he had somehow become less desirable to Prowl. Maybe their relationship wasn't as serious as Jazz had thought it was. Perhaps Jazz had been oblivious to the signs?<p>

Gloomily, he dragged his pedes to the command deck. He had communications duty that night, so at least he wouldn't have to go back to their quarters to be rejected. _Again_. He hadn't seen Prowl since his abrupt departure the previous night.

A joor into his shift, Jazz felt a tap on his shoulder. "Hey Blaster, s'up?"

"I'm here to relieve you, mech," Blaster said cheerfully.

"What? Why? My shift doesn't end fer joors."

Blaster jerked his thumb toward the doorway. "His orders."

Jazz looked around Blaster to spot Prowl leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. What was Prowl doing there? The tactician had a stern look on his face and strode forward.

"Um, hey Prowler, I don't need Blaster ta take my — whoa!" Jazz exclaimed as Prowl hauled him out of his chair and threw him over his shoulder.

"Have fun!" Blaster waved gleefully.

Jazz watched the floor move quickly beneath them as Prowl all but sprinted down the hallway toward their quarters. While Jazz appreciated the view of Prowl's upside down aft, he still had no clue what was going on. Prowl jerkily punched in the code and dragged Jazz through the door with him.

"Prowl, what's goin' on? Ya can't jus' — Mmph."

The SIC cut him off with a heated kiss, glossa hungrily searching out his own. Leaving Jazz gasping, Prowl planted hurried kisses and bites down Jazz's neck, nibbling on cables as he went. Thoroughly enjoying the lavish attention, Jazz still needed an answer. So it was with great difficulty that he pushed his lover away for a moment.

"Not that I'm complainin', but what's goin' on, Prowler?"

Grumbling in frustration, Prowl heavily petted Jazz's sides. "Last night after I left our quarters, rudely might I add — your performance was _wonderful —_ I realized I didn't quite feel right. I should have wanted to throw you against the nearest surface and frag you senseless. As with the previous nights."

Jazz laughed. "Ya think?"

Prowl silenced his lover with a pinch of his aft. "It was like I knew you were trying to say something to me, but I just wasn't getting the message. I went to go see Ratchet, and it turns out the subroutine he had shut down was something essential to my more _amorous_ emotions. He reset it and the torrent of emotions that had been held back overwhelmed me, and I offlined. Now, I can finally act upon them."

"I was worried ya didn't care 'bout me anymore," Jazz admitted softly, grasping Prowl's face in his hands.

"That's one thing I'm quite certain of," Prowl whispered affectionately. "I could never truly ignore my feelings for you."

"Glad ta hear it," Jazz murmured back and pulled him close for another sweet kiss.


	8. Knock, Knock

_Disclaimer: Don't own it._

* * *

><p>Original publish date: 912/10

Prompt: "Yes, I know I said that, but I actually meant..."  
>Verse: G1<br>Rating: G/K  
>Warnings: Blunt objects?<br>Summary: Prowl needs to clarify things for Jazz in the future.

* * *

><p><strong>Knock, Knock<strong>

Slowly, he felt his processors began to reboot, a dull buzzing filling his audios. His helm pulsed at the annoyance, and an assortment of aches strained throughout his frame. From his pedes to his fingertips, Prowl felt _completely_ fragged.

He tried to recall his most recent memory. It had been a long orn filled with endless difficulties. And the orn before that. And the orn before that. Primus, it had been a ridiculously wearisome week!

As per usual, the Autobot SIC had worked tirelessly to oversee all that needed to be accomplished. Optimus was on the road with Ironhide and Jazz, consulting with human dignitaries in Washington, D.C. In addition, Ratchet would be joining them to lecture at a medical conference in Baltimore. Normally, as a natural ambassador and astute professional, Prowl would accompany Prime and leave Jazz in command. But Ratchet had been insistent that Prowl remain at the _Ark_ — for his health. He hadn't been recharging and fueling regularly as of late. Besides, there was one slight problem with traveling…

The Datsun was seriously damaged in the last battle with the Decepticons. As a result, his transformation cog was currently inoperable and removed. No transformation cog, no transforming. No transforming, no alt mode. No alt mode, no cross-country road trip. Bummer.

So, Prowl had been left behind to run things. But the crew of the _Ark_, it seemed, lived by the motto:  
>"While Prime's away, it's time to play! And give Prowl hell…"<p>

At least it seemed like that. Prowl knew everyone had actually been working quite hard. They would have much rather been having a good time. Back to that last terrible orn…

Prowl hadn't recharged since the first night Prime and the others had left. Caught up in his duties and worries, the black and white had trouble remembering to refuel without reminders. He had been running at low efficiency the entire week. The first dilemma began when the nearby humans needed aid with some heavy duty construction project. So Prowl sent out a team to help. Then the Decepticons were purportedly seen committing some dastardly deeds, but the sightings were unconfirmed. So an observation team was sent to investigate that. The duty roster changed multiple times to cover shifts and mechs started pulling longer shifts to compensate.

It only got worse from there. Surprisingly, it wasn't the usual suspects causing problems for him. The Twins were pulling their weight and bringing him a cube of energon every now and then. They became even more severely understaffed. A tarnished batch of energon had made half the crew ill and unable to function. Seeing robotic mechanisms purge their tanks all over the place was not a pretty sight. First Aid assured him they would all make a full recovery, but it still left the _Ark_ running with minimum coverage.

Prime and the others were due back any day, so he just had to keep things going until then. Still, Prowl could subconsciously feel himself running his overworked frame into the ground, but didn't really pay it any mind. Had to keep at it. Had to keep things running smoothly.

Prowl's last memory finally flashed behind his optics. He had been in his office going over datapad. It had been joors past the time he should have gone to recharge. Tiredly, he had gotten up to retrieve another data file from the shelf behind him. An intense pain. Then nothing.

Had he been attacked? Perhaps his frame had finally collapsed from exhaustion. Or maybe he'd gone on a wild drinking craze and passed out from becoming overcharged. While that last one seemed unlikely, his processors still entertained the thought amusedly. He gave a sardonic chuckle, wondering if that is what he simply wished to do. With a groan, he onlined his optics.

A smooth voice floated over him. "'Mornin', sunshine. Guess I hit ya harder than I thought."

"Jazz?" Prowl slowly turned his head to the side. "You're back."

"A fabulous observation, mah mech." Jazz drawled with a wink of his visor.

"Why does my body ache so badly? What happened?" Prowl questioned, wincing as he sat up.

Jazz sat down on the berth next to him. "I thought I made that clear. I hit ya on the head, then dragged ya back ta our quarters."

"I was hoping I imagined that," Prowl said with a scowl. "Why would you _do_ that?"

"'Cause ya told me to," Jazz replied cheekily with a grin.

Prowl dragged a hand over his optics. The buzzing in his processor continued on. "I don't recall ever telling you to do such a thing."

With careful hands, the saboteur pulled the tactician close to examine his helm. "The dent isn't that bad. You'll live. Anyway, yes, ya did tell me ta hit ya on the head. 'Bout 27 vorns ago."

Prowl just stared at him incredulously. "Did I now?"

"Yup. It was jus' before we had finals our last year in the academy. Ya pulled an all nighter every night fer weeks studyin'. We went ta our first exam and BAM! Ya fell face first down the stairs of the lecture hall all the way ta the bottom. Never heard such a ruckus," Jazz reminded him fondly.

Prowl buried his faceplate in his hands. "What does hitting me in the head have to do with that mortifying moment of my past?"

"It has everythin' ta do with it. Ya woke up in medbay and ya made me swear that if ya ever worked that hard again, workin' yerself into exhaustion, I should beat some sense in ta you."

The SIC would have rolled his optics if he could. "Yes, I know I said that, but I _actually_ meant something more along the lines of forcing me to take a break. Or taking a recharge nap."

Jazz shrugged. "Not my fault if ya left it open ta interpretation."

"Yes, indeed, it is my fault such a transgression has occurred. Though despite my aching processor, I do feel better than I have in a while. So thank you," Prowl murmured dryly.

Leaning in close, Jazz pressed a soft kiss to his chevron. "Yer welcome. Now let me help ya with that achin' processor."


	9. (Un)Deadliest Catch

_Disclaimer: Don't own it._

* * *

><p><em><em>AN: This one is a favorite of mine. ^^__

* * *

><p>Original publish date: 919/10

Prompt: fishnets  
>Verse: G1ish<br>Rating: PG/K+  
>Warnings: crack!<br>Summary: Prowl was right. They could learn a lot from the humans.

Notes: I originally wanted this to be a really sexy, fun story, but of course, my brain decided to take the prompt literally. So you'll have to excuse the crack fic I have here. XD Also, I never totally understood which 'verse the Decepticons actually had their base underwater, but I decided they do here.

* * *

><p><strong>(Un)Deadliest Catch<strong>

"This is a fragile, delicate ecosystem — we have to be careful of maintaining a feasible balance," Sylvia, a marine biologist and their instructor for the day, explained.

Rubbing his chin quizzically, Perceptor posed a question. "How do you track such a precarious matter as the volume of extracting wildlife?"

The brunette shook a stray hair from her face and tucked it behind her ear before answering. "We have several laws and regulations in place, as well as organizations dedicated to limiting intake in order to —"

Jazz dragged a slow flow of air through his vents. He slumped his shoulders forward and let his helm roll backward to stare at the clear blue sky. Irritably, he bounced up and down from pede to pede, then crossing and uncrossing his arms.

"Are you _bored_, Jazz?" a smooth voice intoned right beside his audio. The Porsche jumped a little and turned his head, only to find the Autobots' SIC scant inches from his face.

"Uh, no. 'Course not, Prowler. What would make ya say that?"

In a disapproving tone offset by a barely suppressed smile, Prowl said, "Oh, it could be your incessant fidgeting and heavy sighing. But that's just a conjecture."

Realizing he had been obvious, Jazz sheepishly offered a shrug. "'K, so I'm bored. It's a beautiful day — just wastin' away. Why am I even here? Slag, why are you here? This is a snooze-fest fer everyone but the science 'bots."

Jazz gestured at the scene of Perceptor firing more questions at their guide. Wheeljack was waving his hand wildly wishing to ask a question. He stretched his hand out further, in a comical attempt to gain Sylvia's attention. "C'mon, Perce, let someone else get a question in edgewise!" Wheeljack demanded.

Perceptor looked surprised, but unapologetic for his inquisitive nature, and he conceded to let another 'bot ask a question.

"What's on your mind, Wheeljack?" Sylvia said kindly.

"Well, back to the tide pools, which you said contain elements of — "

Jazz turned back to Prowl with an exaggerated yawn hid behind his hand. "Jazz, stop acting like a sparkling. Prime would not have us here as well unless he thought there was something beneficial to be learned…" Prowl began.

He trailed off as the saboteur pointed to their Prime, swaying on his feet fighting off recharge as Skyfire gave him a gentle shove to rouse him.

Prowl decidedly ignored Jazz's amused smirk. "_Fine_. We are here because the locals invited part of our science team to learn more about the ocean, and Prime, being the _benevolent _leader that he is, dragged us along to suffer beside him like good, loyal officers should."

The TIC chuckled at his fellow black and white's frustrated tirade. Prowl wasn't finished though. After a pause, he continued. "Regardless, I actually do find the topic interesting. The humans are trying to conserve their resources. They acknowledge the planet's creatures and natural materials are not limitless. You only need to look upon our own barren planet to see it is a lesson we should heed."

Prowl's words rang true. Images of a devastated and destroyed Cybertron flooded Jazz's processor. Earth was so beautiful and its creatures so young. It would be a shame to see it suffer the same fate of their home world. Jazz nodded thoughtfully and turned his attention back to the discussion.

The current topic centered on commercial fishing. Perceptor seemed to have more questions about the chemical makeup of saltwater; while Skyfire wanted to know about the effect of the moon on tides. However, to everyone's surprise and intrigue, Prowl had quietly raised his hand in question.

"Yes, Prowl?" Sylvia said.

"I am puzzled by the 'fishing' process. If I understand correctly, boats go out onto the ocean, drag large fishnets below the surface and successfully catch large amounts of aquatic organisms?"

"Yes, basically that's what happens."

A curious flutter of doorwings caught Jazz's optic. Prowl continued. "What types of material are the nets made out of?"

Sylvia replied, "Traditionally, a strong rope or similar material as it has to bear the weight of thousands of fish. Most are made in a mesh-like pattern with squares large enough to allow water to escape, but hold in fish. There are various types of nets based on the species of fish, size of the fishing vessel, and the manner of fishing itself."

Prowl pondered over this, nodding his thanks to Sylvia. The conversation turned to algae levels, but Jazz observed the Datsun the rest of the afternoon. He could practically hear the gears turning in his head!

As the sun began to set and the Autobots boarded Skyfire for their short return to the Ark, Jazz commed Prowl on a private channel.

:: _So what kind of plotting have ya done today?_::

Prowl glanced at the smaller mech, giving him a small smile. :: _Oh, nothing._::

:: _Prowler, that is so unfair! But ya know, it's kinda hot when yer askin' nerdy questions and bein' devious… _:: he leered, reaching a hand out to caress the tip of an enticing doorwing, which was promptly swatted away.

:: _Nerdy, hm?_::

:: _Aw, don't be like that —_:: Jazz implored. But his only reply was static silence. Pouting, he settled grumpily into his seat for the duration of the flight.

As they disembarked a short while later, Jazz perked up as a warm hand slid into his own with a squeeze. "I promise I'll tell you as soon as I go over some things with the science team." Prowl gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and hurried after Perceptor and Wheeljack.

With a lighter step, Jazz tried not to eavesdrop as he heard Wheeljack say, "Now why would we make something like _that_, Prowl?"

What was going on in that processor of Prowl's?

* * *

><p><em>3 orns later<em>

Without any clues as to the inner workings of his lover, Jazz was anxious to see if this meeting had anything to do with Prowl's recent plotting. An upper-staff meeting was called mid-afternoon by an amused Optimus Prime. He immediately gave the floor to his SIC.

"After our enlightening lesson earlier this week, I was…_inspired_. The Decepticons are notoriously difficult to track as they leave and re-enter their submersed oceanic base. With that in mind, Wheeljack and Perceptor, if you please?" Prowl said.

Jazz leaned forward in anticipation, as did the others present with great fascination.

"When Prowl asked us to construct a net made of a flexible energon-based material, infused with Cybertronian alloys, we were skeptical, but — " Wheeljack began.

As Prowl's plan unfolded, the gathered mechs grinned in delight. "Everyone understand the concept? Good. This will be an experimental implementation. Who would like to volunteer?" Optimus inquired.

All hands present shot up — Jazz waving his hand more gleefully than anyone else.

"Well then, I think this is something we'd all like to try. Red Alert, let's see what we can do about broadcasting this 'experiment' to the rest of the crew while Prowl and Jazz take those present to handle this mission."

Red Alert offered a smile. "With pleasure, sir. Blaster and I will send a probe from Teletraan I."

Optimus made one more suggestion. "And Prowl? Take the Twins with you. I think they'll enjoy this."

* * *

><p><em>A few joors later<em>

"I'm_ bored_," Jazz muttered.

"Patience is a must, Jazz. Any disturbance of the surface might scare away our catch — " Prowl started to explain.

Bubbles began breaking the surface of the water. A seeker's jets whined with effort as it met resistance trying to lift out of the water.

"What the frag?" shouted Starscream as he struggled furiously in Wheeljack and Perceptor's _Decepti-Net™ _(patent pending).

Jazz clapped his hands and pointed, "Look, Prowl — I caught a _feisty _one!"

Starscream snarled at the comment. "Shut up!"

A red Lamborghini was having trouble with his own catch. "This one's kinda small sir!" Sideswipe called out form further down the shore.

"Throw it back!" Prowl yelled in return.

Thundercracker paused in his struggles and scowled. "I'll throw_ you _back!"

"On second thought, maybe we should mount this one. Sunny, grab the harpoon, would you?" Sideswipe asked.

Sunstreaker grinned. "Got it, hold 'im steady!" the golden twin said as he took aim.

"You gotta be kidding!" Thundercracker shouted in a panic, immediately trying to get out of range.

Meanwhile, Skywarp had managed to teleport out of his net's bindings…right into the one that trapped Starscream. "Ahhhhh!" He thrashed about more violently, further entangling himself and his trine leader.

"Skywarp, you imbecile, get me out of here!" Starscream whined.

Watching the sight playing out above them, Jazz wrapped an arm around Prowl's waist. "Prowl?"

The SIC observed the trine crash into the ocean sending up splashes of saltwater. "Yes, Jazz?"

"Can we go fishin' more often?"

"Of course."

"Prowl?"

"Yes, Jazz?"

"I love ya and yer diabolical processor."


	10. Lovers' Quarrel

_Disclaimer: Don't own it._

* * *

><p>Original publish date: 927/10

Prompt: "I didn't think you'd take it literally!"  
>Verse: G1<br>Rating: T/PG-13  
>Warnings: TF swearin'<br>Summary: A strange look into how Prowl and Jazz keep their relationship..._fresh_.

* * *

><p><strong>Lovers' Quarrel<strong>

"You are being unreasonable," Prowl said stiffly, crossing his arms.

Jazz scoffed. "I'm bein' unreasonable? Oh, that's jus' a load of slag!"

"Jazz, please keep your voice down. May we continue this conversation in my office?" Prowl implored, glaring at the smaller black and white mech.

The saboteur waved his arms around. "You wish, mech. I want there ta be plenty of witnesses fer this spat."

Trying to remain inconspicuous, but failing to do so, the crew of the _Ark _watched in morbid fascination as the fight between their SIC and TIC escalated. Just a few breems prior, everyone gathered in the rec room had been enjoying an amiable break. Jazz had been among them, sitting at a table with Bluestreak, the Twins, Bumblebee, Mirage, and Hound. They laughed and chatted while relaxing with a cube of energon. The last few orns had been filled with tiresome cleanup work after the latest Decepticon fiasco.

The serenity was interrupted by the resident tactician appearing in the doorway of the rec room. His cobalt optics searched diligently among the crowded tables. Focusing on the jovial saboteur, Prowl strode over to the table with purpose, doorwings flaring widely. Bluestreak caught sight of the mech first and visibly flinched at his stoic, tense appearance. The police cruiser came to a stop in front of the table, waiting for Jazz to acknowledge his presence. Mirage gulped as he saw his doorwings visibly tremble with a carefully contained rage.

Still laughing at some forgotten joke, Jazz only looked up at the SIC when Bumblebee gave him a nervous poke with his servo.

"What's wrong, 'Bee? You look like you saw a ghost," Jazz chuckled.

Sideswipe pointed. "Uh, Jazz…I think Prowl wants to talk to you."

Glancing up beneath his visor, Jazz crossed his arms behind his head and kicked up his feet on to the table with a smirk. "Is that right, Prowler? Ya got somethin' ya wanna say?"

Denta clenched tightly, Prowl gestured toward the doorway. "Perhaps we can talk in private, Jazz?"

The Porsche pretended to think about it a moment, tapping his chin in thought before replying, "Nah, I don't think so. Whatever ya gotta say ta me, you can do it front of everybody."

Jazz's silent dare hung in the air, an apprehensive silence surrounded them. The entire rec room seemed to have stopped buzzing to take witness of the events unfolding. The TIC had a feeling he knew what had Prowl's wiring in a twist, and he was almost certain the mech before him didn't have the bearings to do anything about it.

Prowl's fists coiled tightly at his sides. He resisted the urge to rip the plating right off Jazz's face forming that annoying grin. "Very well, if you insist. Jazz, effective immediately, you are hereby removed from active duty until further notice."

Stunned, Jazz lost his balance and slid in an ungraceful heap to the floor. Immediately, he leapt up to slam his palms on the surface of the table. The vibrations to the table caused the resting energon cubes to teeter and spill.

"That's completely fraggin' ridiculous!"

Prowl huffed. "You cannot say it's unexpected."

"'Course it is! Ya got no right! Does Prime know yer spoutin' crazy, unfounded declarations?" Jazz shouted in challenge as he rounded the table to step in front of the unyielding SIC.

Allowing himself his own smirk, Prowl placed his hands on his hips. "Of course, he knows. Prime is the one that approved my motion."

The visored mech fiercely scowled, the malignant expression marring his face. "Yeah? On what grounds?"

Black and white doorwings twitched in agitation. "On what grounds? On reckless, disobedient, won't listen to anyone because he has a Primus-complex grounds!"

Jazz opened his mouth to protest, and then shut it again in disbelief. He let out a low growl deep from his vocalizer.

Bluestreak whispered to Sideswipe and Sunstreaker behind his hand. "I can't believe they're fighting like this!"

"I know. It's like they've been possessed by unruly versions of themselves…I'm kinda freaked out," Sideswipe admitted. "What do you think, Sunny?"

The golden Lamborghini made a shushing motion. "Quiet, I'm trying to listen!"

The two black and whites whipped their heads to identify the disturbance. In unison they scolded, "Shut up!"

Surprised by their simultaneous speech, their glaring contest resumed and we return to the present moment of a scrupulous exchange of insults.

"Ya pit-spawn! Ya can't do this ta me!"

"I most certainly can. During the last encounter with the Decepticons, you disobeyed my direct orders to disengage from Starscream's trine."

"It was the wrong call ta make, slagger. I took 'em down, didn't I?"

"That's not the point! You knowingly endangered yourself and your comrades with your needless heroics and rash actions!"

"Why do ya always have to be so 'by the book,' Prowl? Ya gotta take chances! Ya got take _risks_ if ya want _results_."

"You're such a self-centered pain in the aft! I have to think about so many other factors. Things have to be planned out, or there would be utter bedlam."

"At least it would be more excitin'. At least then ya might be livin', ya sparkless fragger!"

"Jazz, that's _enough_. Let's discuss this in my office, unless you wish to quietly accept your temporary discharge civilly. Or…face the consequences."

"Pft. What are ya gonna do? Throw me in the brig?"

Prowl nodded. "Precisely, even if it means doing it by force. And perhaps extending your suspension."

"Fine!_ Do it! _I don't care. Throw me in the brig! I'd like ta see ya try — gah!" Jazz stumbled backward and landed with a resounding clang as his armor struck the cold floor. His visor flickered for a moment, then faded as he fell into stasis.

Several jaws dropped as the crew stared speechless at Prowl, his fist still raised.

Mirage, normally quite an eloquent speaker, stuttered. "D-did Prowl just knock out, Jazz?"

From another table across the room, Cliffjumper answered, unsure of what he was seeing himself. "Um, yes?"

Turning his back on the prone mech, Prowl issued a gruff order. "Sunstreaker, Sideswipe. Take Jazz to the brig."

The Twins cautiously shared a disbelieving glance. "Uh, now? Shouldn't Ratchet look at Jazz first?" Sideswipe ventured.

"No. Take him to the brig. Immediately. _Don't _make me tell you again."

Scrambling to comply with the order, Sides and Sunny grabbed Jazz's heavy limbs and lifted him between them. With a satisfied flick of his wings, Prowl motioned for them to follow him to the brig. As they left, the rec room erupted into gossiping chaos.

Sideswipe and Sunstreaker idly let Jazz's pedes clink softly as they dragged him across the floor and to the brig. Prowl stopped in front of a cell and gestured to it. "Place him in there, please."

Doing as instructed, the Twins deposited the saboteur in the cell and looked expectantly at Prowl for further direction. "That will be all, thank you. You're both dismissed."

"Eh, Prowl...don't you think — " Sunstreaker began.

"I said, you're _dismissed_. I suggest you both leave and have your audios examined by Ratchet or First Aid. Clearly, you have the same hearing problem as Jazz. Unless you would like to try out my remedy…" Prowl trailed off with an incline of his head to Jazz's unconscious form.

Holding their hands out in front of them to placate the ire of the tactician, they backed away slowly. "That's okay! We heard you! Leaving — right away!" They turned and hightailed it out of the brig and away from moody officers.

As the echoes of their hasty retreat faded, Prowl allowed a small smile. With his back still turned to the now occupied cell, he gently clapped his hands together.

"A stirring performance, Jazz. If I hadn't already known you solely practiced music as a trade before the war, I would have guessed you could have been a dramatic arts performer."

Cool hands slid around his trim waist and reached up to caress Prowl's headlights. Releasing a soft groan at the attentions, Prowl twisted in the loose embrace and brought his own hands to Jazz's helm.

"I thought they would never leave…" Prowl pulled him close for kiss, only for Jazz to twist away a few steps.

"Jaaaazz," Prowl whined, making 'grabby' hands for his lover to come back. "You've got my circuits unbearably heated from our…passionate argument. And now you won't even allow me to touch you? That's cruel."

"Ah, ah," Jazz waggled his finger at him. "There's somethin' we gotta settle first."

Prowl's doorwings drooped. "Prime didn't really suspend you. Can't this wait until after we've interfaced two, three…or eight times?"

"That's not what I'm talkin' about." Jazz glared through his visor. "Ya punched me!"

"You're the one who gets riled up by arguing in front of everyone. I think it may be a type of sexual fetish," Prowl mused absentmindedly. He shook his head to focus. "Nonetheless, you were being insolent."

"Ya still punched me! And why'd ya have me thrown in the brig?"

"You told me to."

"I didn't think ya'd take it _literally_! Ya were supposed ta drag me back ta yer office and frag the livin' daylights outta me there."

"As I said, you suggested the brig. It was only logical to follow through on the threat. If you had been paying attention, you would have noticed I suggested we take things to my office — twice."

Jazz dragged his palm over his face. "It's a good thing I like yer cute aft so much. Damn yer logic!"

Prowl stepped forward and grasped Jazz's hips, pulling them snugly against his own. He bumped the Porsche suggestively. "Are we finished with this discussion now?"

Pretending to sigh exasperatedly, Jazz hummed. "I suppose. But next time we gotta plan out our lovers' quarrel roleplay more carefully, 'kay? No throwin' punches."

"You have my word, Jazz. No more punches. Now let me kiss you and make it all better," Prowl murmured against his lips.

Readily accepting the warm kiss, Jazz wrapped his arms around Prowl's neck. "Though, next time, maybe we could start a fight while sparring. Gotta say, it really turned me on seein' ya lose yer cool like that."

Prowl released a deep chuckle. "Sparring is fighting, Jazz."

"Ya know what I mean."

"Indeed. I look forward to your future attempts to…ruffle my feathers," Prowl whispered in a sultry tone. "Oh, and one more thing. Prime requests we leave him out of any future endeavors. I believe it made him uncomfortable."

Jazz pulled Prowl in for another sparkfelt kiss. "Prime's jus' jealous."


	11. Ouch

_Disclaimer: Don't own it._

* * *

><p><em><em>AN: This one was written for the livejournal community tf_speedwriting.__

* * *

><p>Original publish date: 728/10

Prompt: weightless  
>Verse: G1<br>Rating: PG/K+  
>Warnings: stupidity<br>Summary: Robots are made of metal. Duh.

Notes: _I know nothing about science. So it hath been noted._

* * *

><p><strong>Ouch.<strong>

"Wheeljack, this had better be important. I was in the middle of finishing my paperwork for the evening," Prowl declared as he entered the science lab. "Jazz finishes his patrol in a breem. I'd like to be able to spend some time with him before recharge."**  
><strong>  
>Crossing his arms, Wheeljack's head fins flashed merrily with a chuckle. "I think this will be worth your valuable time."<p>

He pointed up at the ceiling and Prowl's gaze followed. The SIC's optics flickered in bewilderment at the ceiling.

Firmly attached to the ceiling, a certain red Lamborghini stared back at him. Sideswipe gave a feeble wave.

"Uh... Hi, Prowl!"

Wheeljack shook his head in amusement. "At least he doesn't seem traumatized by the incident."

"What occurred here?" the black and white Datsun inquired.

"Sideswipe wandered into the lab, despite the fact I had the warning light on outside the door indicating an experiment was in progress," Wheeljack explained. He motioned to a sinister looking device in the corner. "This piece of equipment has been designed to deflect an artillery attack. However, Sideswipe walked right into the beam."

Prowl nodded. "Of course. He's always in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"Hey! I'm right here," Sideswipe huffed. "Um... 'Jack, I can't feel my legs."

"Hush, you cretin. Please Wheeljack, continue."

"The beam had an interesting reaction to Sideswipe's armor. It resulted in the polarity of the metal being reversed to create a powerful magnetic property," Wheeljack concluded, taking notes as he hypothesized a guess. "He floated weightlessly for a moment, as if experiencing zero gravity. The magnetism amplified as he drew closer to the ceiling. Essentially, his plating is acting like a magnet, thus his attachment to the ceiling."

Circling below the red twin, Prowl let out a delicate snort. "How long will he be affected?"

"Oh, possibly long enough for the rest of the crew to get a look," the scientist ventured. "It's difficult to say."

Sideswipe flailed, completely failing to detach himself. "What? You _can't_ be serious. I _demand_ to be brought down...I _demand _to be — "

**Thunk.**

Adeptly stepping to the side just in time, Prowl tsked. "Well, at least I have a vid recording of the whole incident to share with Jazz. Thank you for the _enlightening_ demonstration, Wheeljack."

"Anytime, Prowl. I know Ratchet will enjoy my copy of it as well," he laughed. "You okay, Sides?"

Prone, face flat on the floor, Sideswipe groaned.

"He's fine," the SIC said. "Well, it's getting late. I should get back to work."

"I need to see Perceptor about some reports. Please lock up my lab when you're finished in here, Sideswipe."

Prowl and Wheeljack exited the lab with a bounce in their step.

Releasing another groan, Sideswipe — feeling completely mortified — gathered his will to scrape himself off the floor.

_Up_...

And up _now_.

No, **now.**

Sideswipe shuttered his optics. "Slag."

He was stuck.

_Again_.

But to the floor.

Begrudingly, he opened his comm. line. "Wheeljack? Hello? Prowl? _Anyone_?"


	12. Denied

_Disclaimer: Don't own it._

* * *

><p><em><em><em>AN: This one was written for the livejournal community tf_speedwriting.___

* * *

><p>Original publish date: 818/10

Prompt: Denied  
>Verse: G1ish<br>Rating: PG/K+  
>Warnings: none<br>Summary: More than likely, the answer will be "no."

Notes: _I like my robots slightly crazy._

* * *

><p><strong>Denied.<strong>

It hadn't been long since the crew of the _Ark_ awakened from their millions of years of slumber. They were on a strange planet called Earth, and oddly enough, the planet's greatest substance was its own namesake. The local sentient creatures had proven to be, er...quite fragile and easily excitable.

The Decepticons were their new next door neighbors. Okay, so they weren't really next door but close enough by under the depths of the ocean. _Plotting_. Who knew what terrors they were learning from undersea creatures? Octupi, perhaps? Anything with eight legs has to be diabolical. Just look at gestalts — too many body parts. There was no feasible contact with Cybertron, and half the ship was wedged deep into a mountain determined to swallow it up.

Not to mention the lack of sorely-needed supplies — much to the dismay of the command staff. Well, really to the dismay of everyone. After all, who likes being stranded on a _stupid _planet far from home without the bare essentials, stuck with the same mecha orn after orn after orn.

All of these thoughts streamed steadily through Sideswipe's processor, making his CPU ache. "Primus, I need a cube of high grade."

Sunstreaker grunted from beside his red twin. "There is no high grade, idiot."

"This is such _slag_!" Sideswipe crossed his arms with a pout. "Has Jazz and Ironhide figured out room arrangements yet? They better not separate us."

"I think so. They're supposed to hand out assignments and duty rotations in a few joors. Wheeljack, Prowl, and Ratchet are doing inventory to help ration our supplies," Bluestreak offered helpfully.

"Why do we need to ration supplies? We're not going to stay here," Sideswipe groaned.

"Then why are Prime and Prowl putting so much time into establishing good relations with the humans?" Mirage challenged from a table next to theirs.

"What a waste of time! Let's load up on what we fraggin' need, then hightail it back to Cybertron," the red Lamborghini concluded.

Smokescreen interjected to comment upon that poorly developed plan. "With what exactly and from where? One, we can't just take what we need, and two, the odds of the humans having precisely what we need is completely unlikely. Not to mention, our ship doesn't look like it's going to budge from the mountainside anytime soon."

With a smile, Bumblebee cheerfully added his thoughts. "At least the humans are nice. I've already met a few, and — "

Standing up, Sunstreaker effectively cut off the yellow minibot. "Mute your vocalizer — no one cares." The yellow twin was more irritable than usual. "C'mon Sides. We may as well accept we're gonna be staying on this slag heap for a while."

Slowly moving to join his brother, a brilliant thought emerged in Sideswipe's processor. "Hey... Yeah! We may as well make the most of it, bro!" He merrily pulled on his brother's arm and dragged Sunstreaker away to reveal his masterful plan.

* * *

><p><em>A few joors later... <em>

"So you've successfully arranged living quarters for everyone aboard?" Prowl inquired, looking over the data pad of rooms.

"Best we could do. Lots of sharin' will be goin' on, but gotta love our fellow 'bots, right?" Jazz answered brightly.

Arching an optic ridge, Prowl nodded absently. "Do you think it was wise to assign Sunstreaker and Sideswipe the same quarters?"

"Well, we figured lots of different mechs could room alright with Sides, but Sunny? Bit harder ta find a winnin' match. So we jus' stuck 'em together."

Prowl's doorwings drooped ever so slightly. "Let's just hope they do not cause too much mischief together. Logic tells me they will come to know the inside of the brig quite well."

Jazz chuckled. Smoothly, he kicked his feet onto the SIC's desk. "Spot on with that hunch, Prowler. So, how'd inventory go?"

The Datsun sighed a cycle of air through his vents. "It's going to be difficult. Until Ratchet and Wheeljack find a way to refine Earth resources into a feasible energon supplement, rations are going to be tightened and stricter. We cannot allow for anything to be wasted. As for general supplies, requests have to be approved by me before they are fulfilled."

Shifting his position, Jazz accidentally nudged a large stack of datapads precariously teetering on the edge of the desk. Quickly, he balanced the wobbly stack. "Jeez, Prowl, what's all this?"

Frowning, Prowl reached for the pad on top. "Actually, I don't know. I haven't had a chance to sort through everything on my desk this morning. I don't recall them being there last night before I went to recharge."

Skimming the pad, his frown deepened. He reached for another pad, and then another — his mood souring progressively.

Jazz was wriggling in his seat with curiousity. "What is it, Prowl? Ya look like ya ingested a bad engergon goodie."

"They are requests for various supplies..." he trailed off.

The ops mech's visor flickered in surprise. "Already? From who?"

Prowl grit his denta as he saw the designations signed at the bottom of each pad. He handed the top datapad to Jazz to read.

T_o the attention of the _Ark_'s SIC:_

_As per orders, we humble soldiers have kept a diligent eye out for supplies necessary to aid in our ability to perform effectively and admirably in our duties. We have noted which items below and on the subsequent pads are absolutely essential for optimal performance. If you have any inquiries, please do not hesitate to reach us via comm. line for supplementary explanations for each item. Please be aware our list has been heavily influenced by Earth and television. _

_Kind regards, _

_Sideswipe and Sunstreaker_

Supply Requests:

high grade  
>sticky tack<br>duct tape  
>a dozen giraffes<br>on-board masseuse  
>more high grade<br>trampoline  
>lamp<br>mirror  
>wax<br>an easel and paints  
>four weasels<br>a toaster  
>high grade<br>comic books  
>cheese<br>scissors, mech-sized  
>daffodils<br>rags  
>showtune sheet music<br>banjo...

Jazz just shook his helm in disbelief as the list went on and on...

He glanced up to see a mischievous-looking Prowl, rubbing his hands together and muttering, "And so it begins..."

* * *

><p>Strolling into their quarters after patrol, Sideswipe stretched his arms letting his armor creak and snap back into place. Sunstreaker sat on his berth smirking as he read a datapad. "What's so amusing, Sunny?"<p>

The golden Lamborghini extended the datapad to his brother. "Take a look. Prowl got back to us on our requests."

"Already? Slag. He really does have no life," Sides chuckled and began to read the pad.

_To the attention of Sideswipe and Sunstreaker:_

_I have carefully reviewed your numerous requests and have deemed them inappropriate and frivolous. Your requests are henceforth:_

**DENIED.**

_I look forward to your future endeavors to irritate me. _

_Sincerely, _

_Prowl_

Sideswipe's smirk matched Sunstreaker's. "I think that's a challenge, dear brother."

"Maybe Earth won't be so bad after all," Sunny said.


	13. Revenge Served Cold

_Disclaimer: Don't own it._

* * *

><p><em><em>AN: This one was written for Day 8_ of tf_speedwriting's Advent Calendar 2010 on livejournal.___

* * *

><p>Original publish date: 128/10

Prompt: snow  
>Verse: G1<br>Rating: PG/K+  
>Warnings: Just a few TF swears<br>Summary: Revenge is a dish best served cold.

* * *

><p><strong>Revenge Served Cold<strong>

Ironhide shifted on his pedes, grunting in irritation at the falling snowflakes as they melted into crystal droplets on his red armor. The old warrior was less than impressed by the wet, white annoyance called snow. At least crystals on Cybertron were solid. And they didn't have the gall to fall from the sky getting everything and everybot wet and cold.

Really.

The _indecency_.

Stupid snow.

But here he was, gruffly crossing his arms while standing outside. In the snow. The _Ark_ entrance was only meters away, but _nooooooo_, he had to stand watch from here. Closer to those miserable miscreants Sideswipe and Sunstreaker.

The only thing keeping Ironhide from turning tail and retreating to the welcoming warmth and a glowing cube of energon was orders. From Prowl. And from Optimus. Just to make sure he would listen.

He was on guard detail overseeing the twins' punishment for their latest prank fiasco. Apparently something too gruesome to be generously detailed in the reports. Something involving Cliffjumper, Gears, a bucket of nails, and neon glowsticks. Ironhide didn't want to know.

Beyond annoyed, Ironhide shouted at his charges. "Hey, get back to work you lazy fraggers! This path isn't gonna clear itself."

Sunstreaker widened his mouth in mimic of a human yawn. He leaned gracefully against his mech-sized shovel, completely uninterested. Turning to look at his brother, he muttered, "Yeah, like that's going to happen. _Watch it_, Sideswipe!"

The red Lamborghini tossed another shovelful of salt on the ground. With a grin, he said, "Aw, I'm sorry, Sunshine! Are you scared of the tiny granules of salt ruining your paint?"

"Keep that atrocity away from me," Sunstreaker sniffed haughtily. "It's bad enough Prowl has us out here acting as snow plows, but you're actually putting up with this slag?"

Shoveling away a few more clumps of snow, Sideswipe straightened and placed a hand on his aching back struts. 'Bots were not meant to shovel snow. "Well, I don't like it anymore than you do. But you seem to have forgotten the Christmas party is tonight."

His golden twin scoffed. "So?"

"_So_...if we don't finish clearing the path to the _Ark_, Prowl's gonna make us finish our punishment in the brig. And I am _not _letting all that high grade we made go to waste, Sunny! So excuse me if I want to have a drunken, overcharged good time with our friends!"

Ironhide stomped over. "That's enough chitchat. Let's get this show on the road. The sooner you finish this, the sooner we can get out of this Primus-forsaken winter wasteland."

Sunstreaker half-heartedly picked at the snow with his shovel. "It'd go more quickly if we had some help..."

"Yeah, 'Hide. You didn't do anything wrong, and yet, here you are outside in the cold with us lowly misbehavin' bots," Sides commented, catching on to his brother's line of thought.

"Slag no. You can forget askin' for my help," Ironhide huffed and returned to his vigilant post. "Now get back to work."

Returning with dismay to this hated chore, Sunny leaned over attempting to clear away the next patch of snow. "This is cruel and unusual punishment...even for Prowl," he growled.

"Hey Sunny, heads up!" Sideswipe yelled in warning.

Twisting his helm around, Sunstreaker was unable to spot the approaching flying object before it struck him square in the faceplate. The chilly snow left white globs as water began running down from his optics and nasal ridge. Disgustedly wiping it away, he looked around for the culprit.

Ironhide stood doubled over with laughter as Sideswipe looked on with glee.

"Cruel and unusual punishment is dealing with _you two_ every day," Prowl drawled. The black and white Datsun retreated back into the _Ark_ with a smile.


	14. Work of Art

_Disclaimer: Don't own it._

* * *

><p><em><em>AN: Can't remember if I had a particular reason for writing this short fic. I don't think it was for a challenge. In fact, I don't think I ever posted it to the lj prowlxjazz community, only at tfanimated-fic.__

* * *

><p>Original publish date: 415/09

Verse: TF:A  
>Rating: GK  
>Warnings: none<br>Summary: Prowl and Jazz share a moment...Bumblebee interrupts.

Notes: _ Takes place at the end of the episode _Five Servos of Doom. _Bonsai pruning info comes from Wikipedia. Forgive the incredibly corny last line of this story. I couldn't resist._

* * *

><p><strong>Work of Art<strong>

Jazz smiled back at his fellow ninjabot as he slightly bowed. He wished they didn't have to leave Earth to return back to a chaotic Cybertron. The Elite ninja would have preferred spending more time with his new friends and learning about the organic planet.

The twisting shafts of light penetrating through the leaves of the massive tree in Prowl's quarters stretched to touch and caress every surface in the room. The warm rays reflected brilliantly on Prowl's black and golden body. Each movement Prowl made caused his armor to twinkle and glimmer. Jazz watched quietly, fascinated as the other visored-mech continued pruning his small, yet flourishing bonsai tree with a concave cutter.

Prowl hummed pleasantly, enjoying the feel of the sun on his plating and the comforting presence of his observant companion. Feeling Jazz's steady gaze so intently focused on him also caused a slight rise in his core temperature. With a knowing smile, Prowl looked over to Jazz.

"Would you like to try?" he asked, guesturing to the potted tree.

Jazz nodded eagerly. "Really? Cool, mech! Ya know, if ya don't mind."

"I wouldn't have offered if I didn't have confidence in you, Jazz," Prowl chided gently. He placed the concave cutter into the cyberninja's capable hands.

The Elite looked from the cutter to the tree and back again, before casting a questioning look to Prowl. "How's this work?"

"Well, you need to prune the flush, without leaving a stub," Prowl instructed.

Laughing, Jazz shook his head. "I have no idea what part of the tree yer talkin' about. That is, if yer even talkin' about the tree."

His comment earned him a smooth chuckle from the normally stoic motorcycle bot. "I apologize. I should have made myself more clear. Let me assist you."

Before Jazz could respond, Prowl stepped behind him. Slender black arms stretched around his waist to grasp the backs of his hands. Lightly, Prowl guided his hands forward and together they slowly clipped stray tufts of growth on the tree.

After a few moments, Prowl pulled his hands away allowing Jazz to continue on his own. Jazz let out an almost imperceptible sigh of disappointment at the loss of contact.

Trying to cover up his tension, Jazz asked, "Maybe ya could explain somethin' ta me. Why do ya cut away pieces of the tree if ya want it ta grow? Does this hurt it?"

Jazz couldn't imagine Prowl would do anything that would hurt the small organic plant, but it was puzzling to his processor all the same. Prowl was about to respond, when a voice of protest cut through —

"What are you crazy ninjas doing? You're _killing_ it!" Bumblebee shouted in horror from the doorway of Prowl's room. Jazz froze in surprise, dropping the concave cutter in the process.

The yellow bot snatched up the bonsai tree and hugged in protectively to his chest plates. "Prowl, I'm surprised you'd let him destroy a plant like that. You're always talking about how fragile and wonderful organic life is, yet here you are watching its decimation!"

If it was possible, Prowl would have rolled his optics beneath his visor. Stalking up to confiscate the bonsai, he growled at Bumblebee for the unwelcome intrusion and placed the tree back in its place.

"You're only partially correct, Bumblebee. If you ever allowed your processors to catch up to your running vocalizer, you would have fewer problems," Prowl scolded. "As I was about to tell Jazz, pruning is an important and common bonsai practice. It must be done with care, as improper pruning can — yes — weaken or kill trees. However, careful pruning throughout the tree's life is necessary to maintain a bonsai's basic design, which can otherwise disappear behind the uncontrolled natural growth of branches and leaves."

Jazz smiled at the explanation. "So, it's like moldin' a piece of clay into a pot...It's art. _Far out._"

"Exactly," Prowl confirmed. He and Jazz grinned at one another, reveling in the simple understanding and appreciation they shared.

Already bored with the situation, Bumblebee shrugged his shoulders and sauntered out of the room. "Whatever."

Bumblebee's exit, however, went mostly unnoticed. Jazz stooped down to retrieve the cutter and placed it next to the bonsai. Blissfully alone once more, he reached out slowly and held Prowl's hand in his grasp. "All I can say is, this tree isn't the only work of art my optics see in this room…"


	15. Melodies of Lies

_Disclaimer: Don't own it._

* * *

><p><em><em>AN: Written for the September 2012 Anniversary Challenge on lj prowlxjazz community.__

* * *

><p>Original publish date: 903/12

Prompt: My Mind is Dangerous by Life of Agony; Lullaby by Origa  
>Verse: G1-AU (pre-Earth)<br>Rating: PG/K+  
>Warnings: OOCness<br>Summary: The line between friend and enemy is a delicate one. As they say, keep your friends close and your enemies closer.

* * *

><p><strong>Melodies of Lies<strong>

_I just can't help myself…_

Cries of fury once raging fiercely across the battlefield quieted; the clang of weapons once echoing against metal armor faded. Energon freely dripped in undulating rivers across dents and scrapes into the dirt below. Exposed circuits and frayed wires ripped from their inner casings sparked and burned. A mech carefully picked his way around the bodies of fallen comrades and enemies alike — their outer shells graying quickly in the waning light. He stopped to glance dispassionately at a mech whose vital lines in their neck furiously spurted energon. The dying mech reached out a shaking hand, their optics pleading.

_That's who I'll always be…_

The standing mech let his lips curl into a sneer of disgust. Pathetic. Instead of offering help or a swift kill of mercy, he lifted his pede and stomped it down onto the prostrate mech's throat. He smiled at the gurgled scream of agony. The already weak mech on the ground writhed in pain, hands desperately clawing at the pede pressing down on his throat. His fingers weakly twitched and slowed in their movement. The upright mech pressed down more firmly with his pede, ending the mech's pitiful life. Task finished, he continued walking up the path to the overlooking ridge. Such fragile lives are easily extinguished and forgotten.

_Erasing life tomorrow ain't the motive to the game…_

The mech approached the only other bot still standing on the battlefield. A unit of 150 mechs. Decimated by an army of 500 drones. Only two mechs remained standing. The odds were not in their favor from the start. An ambush. Carefully planned and executed. The drones were easily crushed and damaged, but there was always another one to takes its place. The mech took in the sight of so many dead mechs and released a cycle of air through his vents in a sigh.

"So ya survived?" he asked lightly to his companion, examining the splashes of energon drying on his pede.

"Indeed, I survived. Are you disappointed, Jazz?" The taller mech shifted his gaze to his elegant doorwing and flicked a piece of dirt off.

"Maybe a little, Prowler. But yer like a cockroach the way ya never seem ta die," Jazz scoffed, crossing his arms over his chestplates.

Prowl let out a sardonic chuckle. "I apologize for not being more obliging to your desires."

The final light of the orn reflected sharply in Jazz's visor as he smirked in response. "Oh, yer quite attentive when it comes ta my desires. Yah always know how ta get mah systems runnin' hot. But it woulda been nice ta take all the credit fer this lil' incident."

"Even if these mechs would have followed you into battle anywhere simply because of your charismatic leadership and charm, it doesn't allow you to consider yourself more important," Prowl chastised, turning his back on the scene before them.

He began walking back toward the city in the far distance. Jazz easily followed along next to him, despite his shorter stride. The saboteur allowed his eyes to roam up and down his companion's sleek body, seeking out any substantial injuries. Prowl abruptly stopped and spun around to face the visored mech.

"I have a few scratches and dents, but no leaking lines. Though my left doorwing may be slightly dislocated, and my optics could use a careful recalibration. But rest assured, I am fine," Prowl said.

Jazz grit his denta. "Ah didn't ask fer an update 'bout yer wellbein', thanks!"

The tactician smiled knowingly. "You cannot honestly say you were not just perusing my body for injuries?"

"Quit flatterin' yerself," Jazz spat.

"Feeling disheartened again? Perhaps regretful of the lives we have taken here today?" Prowl ventured as he stepped closer to his fellow black and white.

Jazz huffed. "Hardly. Jus' wonderin' how long we can keep this charade up. We both lose a handful of mechs here an' there on missions ta avoid suspicion. It can't go on forever."

"No, it cannot," Prowl agreed. "But we just delivered a devastating blow to the Autobots by allowing such a large loss. They will be at an enormous disadvantage. While these weren't exactly new recruits, these mechs had at least seen battle before. It takes time and numerous expenses to train replacements."

"Ah know that," Jazz said. "Think Megatron will let us go back ta Kaon after this? Ah'm tired of playin' Autobot. Such a dull bunch."

Prowl let out a bitter laugh. "You would rather be in the company of unsophisticated lowlifes that call themselves Decepticons? They are fools. The entire lot of them."

"Well, not particularly. Can't say they make any better company, but at least Ah wouldn't get inta trouble fer roughin' them up whenever Ah want. Ah can make my own rules." The smaller mech just stared at the ground spitefully.

Jazz felt Prowl lift a clawed hand to his chin and tipped his face up.

_Go away, lullaby…_

"I do not know when Megatron will call us back. For now, we must carry on and continue with our assignment to inconvenience the Autobots from within," Prowl said. "And while you and I are trapped behind masks and enemy lines, do not forget you may find pleasure in my company, Jazz. You only need to ask."

The smaller mech trembled in hated anticipation as their pliable, cool lips slid together. Glossa entwined in a delicious frenzy. Jazz's optics shutdown as a pleasurable arc of electricity shot through his circuits. A low moan escaped his lips as Prowl left a trail of kisses down the vulnerable pulsing lines in his neck. The memory of the fallen mech he'd just killed on the field flashed through his mind before he roughly pushed the other mech away.

_Don't give me no melodies of lies…_

Jazz sputtered and cursed. "Frag it, Prowl! Don't do that."

"Do what?" Prowl purred as he nonchalantly examined the energon staining his claws.

The saboteur attempted to suppress the thrill of desire that ran through his systems at the sound of that sultry voice. "Whatever. What's the story yer gonna spin this time? We've never lost such a large unit before."

"A terrible tragedy," Prowl began as he fabricated a woeful tale of lies. "An incident no one could have predicted. Taken by surprise, we had no choice but to engage in battle with little to no warning. No viable shelter was available for cover. I was knocked offline early in the battle, only to awaken joors later to find everyone else dead. While looking for survivors, I discover your offline body among the dead — barely clinging to life."

Jazz growled. "Barely clingin' ta life? Ah've got less scrapes and dings than you!"

"Yes, that is true. So we will just have to make it more believable."

"And jus' how are we supposed ta do that?" Jazz grumbled.

Prowl smiled, his handsome visage conveying a hidden agenda. Only Jazz truly saw him for the pitspawn he was. Not Megatron, Shockwave, Starscream, or even Soundwave, knew how deep Prowl's twisted ambitions ran.

"To make any story believable, you must start with a seed of truth behind the deception," Prowl stated.

Jazz didn't have time to react as Prowl drew his arm back and punched his faceplate. He fell hard to the ground, his visor cracking on impact. His optics flickered in protest, and as his vision faded, the last thing he saw was Prowl's vicious grin as he fell into a dark oblivion.

_No, no more lies…_


	16. Sadness Gave

_Disclaimer: Don't own it._

* * *

><p><em><em>AN: Written for the September 2012 Anniversary Challenge on lj prowlxjazz community.__

* * *

><p>Original publish date: 906/12

Prompt: racing toward dawn; chartreuse  
>Verse: Bayverse-AU<br>Rating: PG/K+  
>Warnings: character death; messing with movie timelinecharacters present  
>Summary: Each new day provides a new beginning. But only if we are willing to change. To listen.<p>

A/N: While researching more meanings for the prompt chartreuse, I discovered a lovely poem by Victorian English poet Matthew Arnold. It's titled _Stanzas from Grande Chartreuse_. Grande Chartreuse is a monastery in France. The stanzas you see interspersed in the story are from the poem, which is actually quite long. Definitely worth a read! It provided excellent inspiration.

* * *

><p><strong>Sadness Gave<strong>

_Wandering between two worlds, one dead,  
><em>_The other powerless to be born,  
><em>_With nowhere yet to rest my head,  
><em>_Like these, on earth I wait forlorn.  
><em>_Their faith, my tears, the world deride—  
><em>_I come to shed them at their side._

* * *

><p>A relief. It was a relief to arrive on the strange human-inhabited planet called Earth. Long months of traveling through the cold silence of space. Stretches of solitude uncomfortable even for a withdrawn mech such as him. Unfurling from his protective pod that sheltered him through the harsh conditions of space, his protoform stretched out freely. His clawed hands dug into the cool earth below him, reveling in the feeling as the dirt cascaded through his fingers. His sensors offered data about his surroundings. Dry, arid terrain and a vast starry sky above. A light breeze floated across his sensitive exposed dermal plating. His systems alerted him to the presence of other mechs, but he was not alarmed.<p>

Blue optics glanced up from the bottom of the hole he sat in to see his observers. A silver face looked back at him gleefully. "Hiya, Prowl!" Sideswipe cheekily greeted.

Prowl's optics shuttered in dismay. "Of course, Primus would punish me with providing you as a greeting party."

"Aw, don't be like that! Didn't you miss me? I missed youuuu!" Sideswipe chirped. "I — hey!"

Sideswipe protested as an irritated Ironhide shoved him aside. "Mute it, scoundrel. Don't worry, Prowl, there's a few sane 'bots here."

"Too bad you're not one of them, 'Hide," Sides teased, continuously poking the gruff weapon specialist.

The black Topkick grit his denta tightly. "Quit that, slagger! Unless you want to meet the business end of my cannon!"

The tactician shook his head in amusement and let loose a quiet chuckle. Some things never changed.

Sideswipe gasped and paused in the torment of his superior. "Did Prowl just laugh? Primus, he must have been horribly damaged upon impact! We have to get him to Ratchet immediately."

Prowl moved gracefully to his feet. "Very amusing, Sideswipe. Are you going to continue poking Ironhide, or may I request a hand up out of this hole?"

Ironhide and Sideswipe shared a smile at the SIC's unusual good humor. "Well, Optimus is expecting us to bring you back…so, if we must…ow! 'Hide, stop hitting me!"

The black mech just grunted and crossed his bulky arms. "I'll stop hitting you when you finally get some fraggin' sense."

"Then I'm afraid you're in for a rather long wait," Prowl drawled as he extended his hand to Sideswipe.

The warrior pulled him up and onto level ground. Sideswipe pressed a hand to his chassis in disbelief. "Another joke? Alright, Decepticon — who are you and what have you done with the real Prowl?"

With a roll of his optics, Prowl turned to his fellow senior officer for answers. "How far is the base?"

"'Bout 14.7 miles that way. Ratchet downloaded the schematics of a few vehicles from the Internet he thought would suit your taste and meets your requirements for an alt mode," Ironhide answered, wirelessly transmitting the data.

The blue of Prowl's optics faded as he internally examined his choices. He made a selection and allowed the schematics to become his outer layer of armor. To complete the process, he dropped down into alt mode and felt his inner systems reconfigure his transformation sequence. Unfolding, he stood to full height with sleek black and white doorwings, a police emblem emblazoned on the panels. Sideswipe and Ironhide looked on in appreciation.

Sideswipe scanned his form to determine the origin vehicle. "Dodge Charger? Nice. But did you really have to go with a police vehicle?"

"It suits me," Prowl said simply.

Ironhide nodded. "Can't argue that. Alright, if you're done gawkin', let's get movin'. Prime and the others are waiting."

Prowl nodded in accord. He was eager to reunite with his fellow Autobots. He watched Ironhide transform into a large truck, then turned to gaze at the silver Sideswipe. He was surprised to find a serious expression upon his face before folding down into a streamlined sportscar. Prowl followed suit and drove behind the other two 'bots. The mood had suddenly taken a somber tone.

A short time later, they arrived at a dusty, long-forgotten military facility. A few rusted warehouses had seen better days and crooked hangars remained standing, but Prowl supposed it made for a reclusive headquarters for the Autobots currently on Earth. Sufficient for the time being. They transformed after coming to a halt to greet the 'bots gathered outside. Arcee, Jolt, Mudflap, Skid, Wheeljack, Bumblebee, Mirage, and others.

Prowl gently smiled at the sight of his comrades and friends. Optimus Prime stepped forward and laid a hand upon his shoulder. "Welcome, old friend."

"Thank you, sir. I am pleased to finally be here."

"You didn't run into any trouble, I hope? The Decepticons are quiet for now, but are still an ever-present danger to us all."

Prowl shook his head. "I was able to elude any patrols in the surrounding sectors. I am confident I arrived undetected."

"I'm happy to hear it," Optimus said with a smile.

He was brushed aside by his chief medical officer. Ratchet transmitted a high beam scanner over Prowl's form, causing his circuits to tingle. "I am fine, Ratchet."

"Hmpf. I'll be the judge of that," the medical officer scoffed. A moment later, he raised his optic ridge in surprise. "Looks like the slagger actually took care of himself on the trip here. Rather, the forced stasis required to travel through space didn't allow for your normal workaholic tendencies."

The tactician smiled. "Perhaps."

Ratchet smirked and gave the SIC a heartfelt pat on the back between his doorwings.

Looking around, Prowl realized he did not see the one 'bot he longed to see. "Where is Jazz?"

The smirk on Ratchet's face melted away into a frown. Sideswipe coughed loudly in the background as Ironhide looked at his feet. Prowl turned an alarmed gaze onto Optimus.

"Prime?"

"I'm so sorry, Prowl. We lost him."

"When?" he asked.

Ironhide replied, "Four months ago. It was Megatron."

Doorwings quivering in disbelief, Prowl clenched his fists in despair. Jazz? Gone?

"Can you take me to where it happened?" he quietly asked.

Ratchet and Optimus shared an uneasy glance. The CMO began, "Prowl, the battle took place in a large human metropolitan. The damages to the city were extensive, we — "

"That's not what I asked," Prowl interrupted. "Can you take me there?"

Wheeljack stepped forward. "But Jazz's body is here at the base. Don't you want to see him?"

Prowl turned burning blue optics onto the engineer. "No. I need to be taken to the place where his spark extinguished."

No one spoke in the harsh silence that followed. Not even a whir, click, or shifting of hydraulics and gears could be heard. Finally, Prowl turned with his doorwings tall, chevron glistening in the dim light of the night. He began to walk away.

Bumblebee stepped forward. "I — I'll take you, Prowl." He looked to Optimus for approval and received a subtle nod of permission.

The tactician nodded sharply and transformed. The scout folded down into his Camaro alt mode and raced away from the base with the police cruiser in hot pursuit.

Prime forlornly watched them disappear on the horizon.

* * *

><p>A couple hours and a few military check point inspections later, Bumblebee led a silent Prowl into the leftover mayhem littering the streets of Mission City. Neither mech said a word aloud or through their comms. The yellow mech stopped his trek among the debris and pointed to a crumbled, decrepit former skyscraper. "There. On top of that building."<p>

"What happened?" Prowl whispered, staring at the sight.

"Megatron was pursuing my human charge, Sam, as he had the Allspark. Jazz didn't even hesitate to jump directly into the fray. He launched a frontal assault…then Megatron, he…"

"Continue, Bumblebee."

"He…he ripped Jazz in half," he murmured after a pause.

Bumblebee sadly watched as Prowl kneeled on the cracked concrete. The sun began rising on the eastern horizon, casting a soft golden light across black and white armor. The tactician cradled his helm in open palms, only his doorwings trembling. Quiet, subdued sobs emitted from his superior's vocalizer. The yellow scout looked away to allow him privacy in his moment of grief and mourning.

* * *

><p><em>Oh, hide me in your gloom profound,<br>__Ye solemn seats of holy pain!  
><em>_Take me, cowl'd forms, and fence me round,  
><em>_Till I possess my soul again;  
><em>_Till free my thoughts before me roll,  
><em>_Not chafed by hourly false control!_

* * *

><p>For the next few months, the stoic SIC performed his duties as flawlessly as ever and without complaint. He ignored the words of comfort and support from his comrades. He politely declined an invitation to talk about his feelings with Ratchet. He flat out refused to take time off after only just arriving when suggested by Optimus. The other Autobots continued to worry about him, but Prowl acknowledged nothing.<p>

He followed a simple routine.

Wake from recharge. (Not that he found much rest, as of late.)

Refuel. (Everything was tasteless.)

Work. (Processor-numbing. It dulled the pain.)

Explain his reports and research to Optimus and human military officials. (More pretending.)

Refuel. (Sometimes he could fool Ratchet into thinking he actually did this.)

Before heading to his quarters for another fruitless recharge cycle, he visited a lonely, dark outlying storage facility. Ratchet kept supplies in one area, but in a solitary corner…a single berth sat. Upon it, the dull grey shell of a once vibrantly silver mech. Visor dark and cold.

Prowl stared at Jazz's empty shell. A vessel that no longer contained the spark that once ignited a fervent passion in his own. Slowly stepping forward, he extended a white hand toward the stationary body. Hand shaking, he froze. Dropping his arm back to his side, Prowl pivoted on his heel and abruptly left the building.

Like yesterday. And the day before. And the day before that.

Just like he will tomorrow.

* * *

><p><em>Ye slumber in your silent grave!—<br>__The world, which for an idle day  
><em>_Grace to your mood of sadness gave,  
><em>_Long since hath flung her weeds away.  
><em>_The eternal trifler breaks your spell;  
><em>_But we—we learned your lore too well!_

* * *

><p>A few years passed. Samuel Witwicky went to college. Bumblebee and Prime followed. Prime was killed and revived. The Fallen defeated. Some nonsense with the Earth's moon occurred after a few more years. And Prowl steadfastly served as he always had through it all. He was not one to abandon his post and duty to Optimus Prime. To the Autobots. To his ideals.<p>

The humans celebrated the demise of the Decepticons. Reveled in their defeat. An alliance with the Autobots would continue as they worked closely with the humans. No doubt it would be a relationship beneficial to both parties. The Autobots could establish a new home for Cybertronians. The humans would have access to new technology and advancements. Wheeljack excitedly told Prowl about how the humans reverse-engineered much of the Cybertronian body when they had Megatron in captivity all those years.

Yes, they'd have their advanced knowledge. But what would they do with it? Some good, Prowl mused. Medicine, transportation, and energy fields would all expand and multiply. Then the knowledge would become distorted. Twisted. Corrupted.

The Autobots were fond of the humans, their cultures, and their beliefs. But they also scoffed at "human nature." They were still considered a lesser being, inferior to Cybertronians as a whole. Prowl found the concept incredulous. His fellow 'bots thought humans as a whole were quite a petty, misguided race. Constantly warring with one another.

Killing, killing, killing.

Were they really so different? They had waged a civil war across millions of years, hundreds of galaxies, dozens of planets…that all resulted in the ultimate demise of their race. How easily history could repeat itself…

Human nature. Cybertronian nature. It was no different. It was simply nature. Whether organic or inorganic. Whether advanced or primitive.

* * *

><p><em>Years hence, perhaps, may dawn an age,<br>__More fortunate, alas! than we,  
><em>_Which without hardness will be sage,  
><em>_And gay without frivolity.  
><em>_Sons of the world, oh, speed those years;  
><em>_But, while we wait, allow our tears!_

* * *

><p>Perhaps they would learn…both Cybertronians and humans alike. One day they could learn to live without hate, without envy, without pride. But Prowl doubted.<p>

With the war put to rest for now and their presence well known to the world, the Autobots were mostly free to wander as they pleased. When he requested a leave of absence, Prime was all too happy to grant it. He thought time away would do Prowl some good. A much needed rest.

Rest.

Indeed, Prowl's spark would find rest. He returned to Mission City early in the morning. Alone this time. The landscape of the city had changed over the years since that first fateful battle on Earth. The sun began to rise, casting a beguiling shadow across the urban terrain. But he recognized the street. The place. Prowl remained in his alt mode and parked in front of the newly finished skyscraper.

Sighing internally, he settled onto his tires more fully and began initializing a shutdown sequence. Reaching deeply within, his spark pulsed slower and slower.

Prowl felt a cold blanket settle over him, like a cool touch wrapping him in its eternal embrace. Relief. He would have smiled if he could. As the once bright spark beats faded, he prayed to Primus that those who remained behind could learn. Could adapt. But the seeds of nature cannot be muted forever. It would not be long before the descent into chaos would begin anew.

* * *

><p><em>But, where the road runs near the stream,<br>__Oft through the trees they catch a glance  
><em>_Of passing troops in the sun's beam—  
><em>_Pennon, and plume, and flashing lance!  
><em>_Forth to the world those soldiers fare,  
><em>_To life, to cities, and to war!_


	17. Good Night

_Disclaimer: Don't own it._

* * *

><p><em>AN: This one was written for Day 17 of tf_speedwriting's Advent Calendar 2012 on livejournal._

* * *

><p>Original publish date: 1217/12

Prompt: a well-earned rest  
>Verse: G1-ish<br>Rating: PG/K+  
>Warnings: Just a few TF swears and mentions of 'bots drinking<br>Summary: Jazz is a busy 'bot.

* * *

><p><strong>Good Night<strong>

Jazz surveyed the rec room with a knowledgeable eye, directing the flurry of activity before him. Hands on his hips, he grinned in excitement. Things were coming together wonderfully.

"A little higher, mechs." Jazz pointed up at the sign over the doorway.

A large festive banner proclaimed "Merry Christmas" in a lovely Cybertronian script, courtesy of Mirage, hovered in the air held by Bluestreak and Cliffjumper.

"Here, Jazz?" Bluestreak asked.

"No, yer side is too high now, Blue. Even up the other side," Jazz advised.

Cliffjumper grumbled. "You know I can't reach that high!"

Jazz chuckled. "Fine, fine. Jus' keep it steady…and there! Perfect."

Bluestreak and Cliffjumper secured the banner and climbed down the ladders. The minibot strode off to look for a new task, while the young Datsun gunner stood back to admire their work.

"It looks nice, huh?" he said to the TIC.

"Sure does, Blue," Jazz cheerfully replied. "Can ya go help Trailbreaker with decoratin' the tree?"

Bluestreak eagerly nodded and dashed off to trim the tree. Looking over his checklist, Jazz hummed to himself. Yup, everything was looking good. The list blurred for a moment. He tiredly rebooted his optics. Jazz had been in Christmas decorating mode for an entire week non-stop. The lack of recharge was definitely catching up to him.

"You're looking very pleased with yourself," a voice said behind the white and black mech.

Without turning, Jazz laughed and said, "That's 'cause I am, 'Raj."

The spy materialized with a soft smile on his face. "This place definitely needed the extra polish for the party tonight. It will certainly be a night to remember," Mirage noted.

"A mech can hope," Jazz said with a smirk.

Mirage shook his head in amusement. "What tricks do you have planned in that scary processor of yours?"

"Nothin' that concerns you," Jazz said. Oh, yes. The saboteur had grand plans for the evening. He had learned something very important about this holiday season from Spike. A very interesting tradition involving a plant called _Phoradendron flavescens_.

The spy tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Oh, I think I may have an idea. Instead of red and green, I think you're entertaining thoughts in black and white," Mirage teased.

Jazz halfheartedly scowled and moved to swipe a servo at the other mech only to be met with air. "Come back here, 'Raj!" The aristocratic mech had vanished.

Laughter sounded down the hallway as Mirage shouted back, "Sorry, Jazz! I'd love to, but I need to find Hound."

Waving a hand in dismissal, Jazz turned back to his list. He attempted to suppress a yawn — these human habits were hard to resist. Ironhide approached him with a cube and forced it into his grasp. "Here."

Jazz said, "Well thanks, 'Hide. Didn't know ya cared."

The red mech gruffly said, "I don't particularly care if you work your systems into a frenzy plannin' what should be a simple party, but Prowl left strict instructions not to let you overdo things."

"Aw, who knew Prowler worried so much 'bout little ol' me," Jazz said gleefully. "Did Prowl an' Optimus report in after the meeting with the US officials?"

Ironhide nodded, crossing his arms. "Prime checked in with Teletraan I 'bout an hour ago. They're on the road. Should be back in time for the festivities, but there's a snowstorm brewin' that might delay them."

Jazz bit his lip in uncharacteristic worry. "Hope they get back okay. They hafta see all our hard work!" It naturally went unstated that Jazz had other reasons for wanting the SIC at the party.

"I suspect these decorations still qualify as overdoin' it in Prowl's book," Ironhide said.

Tinsel and garland. Silver and gold. Candy canes and energon goodies. Sparkles and glitter. Stars and snowflakes. The rec room transformed into a veritable winter wonderland.

"Ugh. This place looks like Tracks crashed into a workshop full of elves and splattered their green and red jolly remains all over the room," Sunstreaker commented from the doorway.

"Merry Christmas to you, too," Ironhide rumbled. "I'm gonna go look for Ratchet."

"What can I do fer ya, Sunny?" Jazz asked looking up at the tall golden 'bot.

Sunstreaker jerked his head toward the entrance of the Ark. "We need you to settle something outside."

Jazz frowned. "Not causin' a ruckus again, are ya?"

The twin shrugged. "Sideswipe started the stupid thing."

"Fine, fine. Jus' let me get someone ta take care of things here," the saboteur said. Sunny nodded in bored acknowledgement and turned on his heel to return outside. Jazz walked over to the music/DJ station Blaster was setting up. "Yo Blaster, do me a favor?"

"Sure, Jazz! What's up?" he said while handing a cable to Rewind and Eject.

Jazz handed him the datapad and stylus. "Think ya can keep things on track here? I gotta go outside and straighten out some mechs. Make sure everybot stays on schedule fer their shifts. That way, everybody'll be able ta attend the party fer at least a little while. I'll be back in time fer the party."

"You got it, mech," Blaster said with a mock salute.

The ops mech grinned in response and lightly jogged out of the Ark. It was still afternoon and stray beams of sunlight broke through the accumulating grey clouds. Jazz released an intake of warm air from his vents, watching it swirl into the cold. The snow on the ground shimmered and gleamed like crystals. He glanced about searching for the mechs involved in Sunstreaker's supposed dilemma. Jazz's optics blinked in surprise behind his visor at the sight before him.

Two mech-sized ice sculptures stood tall and proud in front of the Ark. The ice reflected the light and shined brilliantly. One, depicted an elegant swan with its wings spread wide. The other, a massive polar bear raising a paw to swipe. Six mechs were gathered around the works of winter art. Sideswipe waved his hands animatedly while arguing with Wheeljack, whose heads fins flashed. Sunstreaker looked simultaneously bored and annoyed. Perceptor watched the argument with a worried expression. Hound and Mirage stood to the side, smiling in amusement.

"What the slag is goin' on out here?" Jazz asked.

Sideswipe perked up from his wild gesturing and pointed firmly at Wheeljack. "Jazz! Thank Primus! Tell this crazy mad scientist his ice cube is pathetic compared to ours."

Wheeljack stomped his pede in frustration. "No. You are mistaken, Sideswipe. Our sculpture is clearly superior. Tell him, Jazz."

"Whoa, whoa. Don't get yer wires in a knot," Jazz said while attempting to placate the irate mechs. "Why does it matter which is better?"

Hound explained the situation. "We were all outside goofing around in the snow when Sunstreaker decided to carve an ice sculpture. Perceptor and Wheeljack were fascinated by the process and calculated how to construct their own sculpture. Sideswipe is the one that made it into a contest. Now that I think about it, where did we find two large blocks of ice?"

Jazz scratched his helm. "Not important where the ice came from. If it's a contest, why don't you pick the best since ya didn't make one?"

Hound backed up a few steps. "No way! Not getting involved."

"What about you, 'Raj? You were inside jus' twenty minutes ago. It's not like ya watched them carve the ice."

"That's true, but I need to side with Hound on this. Clearly, an officer is the better choice to decide the outcome here," Mirage said diplomatically.

"No. Yer just a coward. Tell the Twins their sculpture is bad — ya risk gettin' a punch in the faceplate. Tell the science 'bots theirs is bad — ya risk gettin' an explosive surprise in yer berth," Jazz growled aside to the spy as the bickering resumed between Sideswipe and Wheeljack.

Mirage smiled. "You say, 'coward.' I say, 'smart.'"

"Smart-aft is more like it," Jazz muttered. He strode forward and forcefully pushed Sideswipe and Wheeljack apart. "Sides, 'Jack. That's enough. Both ice sculptures are pretty amazin'. Why does there need ta be a winner? It's Christmas. Let's just go back in and enjoy a cube. I think Smokey was draggin' out his good stash of high grade for the party."

Sunstreaker uncrossed his arms and elbowed his brother. "C'mon, Sides. It's getting colder out here. Let's go in."

Perceptor tugged on Wheeljack's arm. "Yes, Wheeljack, let's return inside."

The two mechs shared a look and begrudgingly shook hands. Hound looked relieved. Mirage looked slightly disappointed no punches had been thrown.

Wheeljack said, "Jazz is right. The holidays aren't meant for competitions."

The red twin laughed. "'Tis the season for drinking! Let's go find that high grade, mechs."

They headed inside as the sun began its descent. Jazz watched the road to the Ark for signs of activity. He released a tired sigh. All the extra hours put into the party would be worth it. It had to be. Were Prowl and Optimus any closer to home? A set of headlights captured his attention as it sped toward him. He felt his spark flutter in hope. Was it Prowl?

Disappointment flooded his systems as a small yellow car pulled up. Spike clambered out of the minibot to allow Bumblebee to transform. Jazz put on a happy face to greet his friends. "Hey, 'Bee. Spike. What's up? Thought you'd be at that Toys for Tots fundraiser 'bout now."

"We need some help, Jazz! The entertainment they booked has the flu. The fundraiser starts in 15 minutes. We hoped Blaster would be able to come help play music. Maybe dance a little," Bumblebee explained.

"Blaster is a little tied up here, mech. He's got comm. duty in an hour so he can spin durin' the Christmas party."

"What about you, Jazz?" Spike asked.

Jazz tilted his helm to the side. "What about me?"

"You've got moves. I've seen them at past parties. Come dance for the crowd. It'll be great!" Spike said.

"Yeah, Jazz! Please?" Bumblebee pleaded.

He rubbed the back of his neck uncertainly. "I dunno, 'Bee. I still have a lot ta do here, especially with Prime an' Prowl still gone."

"Please, Jazz? I'm sure Ironhide can handle things. Carly is counting on us," Spike implored, his hands clasped in a plea. Bumblebee nodded in agreement.

Jazz sighed and transformed. "Fine, jus' fer a little bit."

Spike pumped his fist in the air. "Yes! Back to the fundraiser, guys." He hopped into Bumblebee's alt mode, and they were on their way. As they sped away down the road, the daylight faded into night. Snow began to fall, dancing down from the sky to join the white blanket already on the ground.

Twenty minutes later, they arrived in the center of town. Carly spotted them and frantically ran over as the Autobots transformed. "You're back! I was beginning to worry about — wait! Where's Blaster?"

"He's busy. But you've got a better 'bot instead," Jazz said with a wink of his visor. "What do ya need me ta do?"

"Attract a crowd. We need shoppers to donate toys. Show us your best moves, Jazz!" Carly said warmly.

And Jazz did just that. He stepped onto the elevated stage in the center of the square. Selecting a rockin' holiday dance beat from his music collection, Jazz let the music blast from his speakers. Tapping his pede to the beat, he began to sing.

"Jingle bell, jingle bell, jingle bell rock…" he sang out, while twisting and turning like only he could.

Folks shopping downtown flocked to the stage to watch the spectacle. A crowd formed and clapped along to the catchy Christmas carol. Toys began to pile up in the collection bin. As the song ended, Jazz slid across the stage on his knees. Applause erupted with wild cheers. He felt his spark lift and couldn't help but laugh in joy. He caught sight of Bumblebee and their human friends jumping up and down in excitement.

He continued performing for a little over an hour until the event ended. Jazz stepped off the stage to rejoin his friends. "An' that — is how it's done."

Carly reached out and hugged Jazz's leg. "Thank you so much, Jazz. We did better than expected."

"Yeah, Jazz. You really saved the day," Spike said.

Jazz smiled. "It was mah pleasure."

Bumblebee checked his inner chronometer. "We should head back, Jazz. The party started almost an hour ago."

"It's that late? Let's get goin' then, 'Bee."

Bumblebee and Jazz bade farewell to the humans, transformed, and raced back to the Ark in the dark. Snow continued to fall at a steady rate, winking in and out of sight as their headlights cast beams into the night.

Upon arrival, the ops mechs transformed and went inside to escape from the chill. Music steadily grew louder as they approached the rec room. Jazz felt his circuits attempt to buzz some energy into his tire limbs.

"Thanks again for helping out, Jazz. It really meant a lot to Spike and Carly," Bumblebee said.

"Like I said, 'Bee. It was mah pleasure. Happy ta help. Now go enjoy the party!" Jazz said and pushed the minibot into the fray of dancing and drinking 'bots.

Jazz grinned taking in the festive mayhem before him. He eagerly glanced about searching for something. Or someone. He felt an arm sling around his shoulders.

"You're late, mech," Blaster admonished.

"Sorry, Blaster. Everything okay here?" Jazz asked. "Prime an' Prowl back yet?"

"When I went on shift, Ironhide took over preparations. As you can see, everything went smoothly. But no, they're not back."

Jazz felt his shoulders slightly droop, but tried not to let his good mood diminish. "Well, may as well grab a cube of high grade!"

Just then, a distressed yell went up from near the energon dispenser. "What do you mean we can't have anymore high grade?!"

Blaster and Jazz exchanged an incredulous look before pushing their way through the gathered cluster of mechs. The saboteur made it up to the front and felt his jaw drop. Ironhide was physically holding back Ratchet while Bluestreak and Sideswipe tugged back Smokescreen.

"The quality of this high grade is questionable! Four mechs have already been admitted into medbay after purging their tanks. I won't allow more mechs to get sick!" Ratchet yelled.

Smokescreen grit his denta. "You can't do that! It's my high grade. And those mechs only got sick 'cause they can't hold their high grade. There's nothing wrong with the quality."

"The half-processed energon splattered all over my medbay says otherwise!" Ratchet said with an irritated growl.

Jazz chose that moment to intercede. "Calm down, mechs. Let's figure this out."

"There's nothing to figure out, Jazz! This high grade is making mechs sick. We can't let them continue drinking it," Ratchet said.

"Hold on now, Ratch. Where are the cubes the sick mechs were drinkin' from?" Jazz questioned.

Hound and Beachcomber brought forward four cubes. Jazz took one and carefully looked it over. "Hm…"

He handed it over to Perceptor who was hovering cautiously at Ratchet's other side. "Does somethin' look wrong with this cube, Percy?"

Perceptor's expression changed from nervous to studious in a nanosecond. He spotted a small fissure along the bottom of the cube. "Indeed. This cube has a hairline crack."

Jazz hummed thoughtfully. "And the others?"

"They all have cracks… Aha! These cubes were damaged before the high grade was poured into them."

Smokescreen huffed. "So?"

"So, it's possible there were trace remnants of old, contaminated energon stuck in the cracks. It could have spoiled the high grade. It's dangerous to mix different grades. It can often unsettle the strongest of tanks," Perceptor clarified.

Jazz nodded in satisfaction. "Great. Everybody jus' needs ta make sure they grab a fresh cube — with no cracks — and dispose the old ones. That settle things, Smokey? Ratchet?"

Smokescreen gruffly nodded. "Fine."

Ratchet sighed in resignation. "Carry on."

A cheer erupted from the assembled Autobots and the party continued with renewed energy. Jazz, however, felt the last of his reserves sputter away. And a quick survey of the room told him Prime and Prowl were still not back. Blaster put a fresh cube of high grade in his hand and raised his own in a toast.

"Here's to you, mech! You put on a great party. Relax, enjoy a cube, and have a good time!" Blaster said.

Jazz smiled. "Thanks. I'm gonna jus' go sit down fer a while."

He sank down into the couch, idly tapping his pede to the music. Jazz didn't feel his helm start to drop back. He didn't feel his optics shutter off. He didn't feel his systems slow to a whirring hum. He fell into a dark oblivion.

* * *

><p><em>A few hours later…<em>

Optimus Prime and Prowl walked down a hallway in the Ark toward the rec room. It was 3:17 am.

"I'm sorry you missed the party, Prowl," Optimus apologized.

Prowl said, "It was hardly your fault we were delayed by the snowstorm, sir. There will be other parties."

Optimus nodded. "True, but I think Jazz, in particular, was hoping you'd enjoy this one."

"Jazz would have a good time whether I am in attendance or not," Prowl said.

The Autobot commander chuckled. "I'm certain he would. That doesn't mean he would not miss your company."

They entered a quiet rec room. The lights were dimmed and litter and decorations scattered the floor. Empty cubes sat on every surface. No mechs remained. Save one.

"Looks like we missed quite a party," Optimus murmured.

"Indeed," Prowl agreed. He glanced at Prime. "I am not cleaning this up."

"I wouldn't dream of it, Prowl," he said with a genuine laugh. "It appears as if there's a straggler asleep on the couch." The dim light of the room reflected off a mech's armor.

"I'll send them to their quarters, sir. Please retire to your own," the SIC said.

"Thank you. Merry Christmas, Prowl."

"Merry Christmas, Prime."

Optimus left the rec room to seek the comfort of his quarters for a nice long recharge. The tactician softly walked to the couch, looked over the back, and felt his door wings raise in surprise. Fast asleep, with his visor dark, Jazz lightly snored.

Prowl didn't bother to suppress the smile that pulled at his lips. Stepping around the couch, he settled himself quietly next to Jazz and tucked the other mech snugly into his side. Jazz only stirred slightly to lean in closer to the warm body. The tactician laid his helm back against the couch. Up above him, a tiny sprig of mistletoe dangled from the ceiling.

He turned his helm closer to Jazz and pressed a sweet kiss upon his lips. "Merry Christmas, Jazz."

The Datsun felt his systems begin their shutdown sequence and fell into a blissful recharge.

_Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!_


	18. Can't Resist

_Disclaimer: Don't own it._

* * *

><p><em>AN: Written for the September 2013 Anniversary Challenge on lj prowlxjazz community._

* * *

><p>Original publish date: 916/13

Prompt: groping in the dark  
>Verse: G1-ish<br>Rating: PG/K+  
>Warnings: Uh...groping? Slight crack.<br>Summary: Jazz is feeling a little handsy. And really, who can blame him?

* * *

><p><strong>Can't Resist<strong>

It was an indisputable, conclusive fact agreed upon by all members of the Autobot faction_ — _the second-in-command had a great aft. Like, stellar. Indecently and impeccably molded. Shining contours framed by elegant, sharp wings. Easily mesmerizing in black and white. It practically beckoned, "Stare at me. Caress me. _Touch me_."

Of course, you were a complete and total idiot to attempt such a thing. If you were brave (or stupid) enough to try copping a feel of Prowl's infamous aft, you would meet the business end of an acid pellet rifle and be zapped on the spot by burning blue optics. No one even came close to actually touching that glorious aft, of course. Prowl was much too aware of his surroundings. Even behind him.

It didn't stop mechs from trying.

* * *

><p>Walking down the corridor of the Iacon base, Jazz and Blaster rounded the corner laughing at old memories. Jazz recently transferred from another base outside Perihex for reassignment with the main Special Ops division. A former classmate and childhood friend, Blaster volunteered to help him acclimate to the base.<p>

"Mech, we were wild during our time at the Academy, huh?" Blaster chuckled.

Jazz smiled fondly. "Yeah, we were stupid glitches."

"I'm glad you're here, Jazz," Blaster said, slapping his old friend on the back.

The saboteur grinned in response. "'Bout time I got this transfer. Just wish it wasn't 'cause another Ops agent got scrapped on the last infiltration mission."

"Gotta take it as it comes," Blaster said solemnly.

They stopped their trek at the commissary. Blaster spread his arm wide and said, "Well, this is the end of the tour. Refuel and kickback station."

"Kickback station? That an official name?" Jazz teased, elbowing his taller companion.

The communications officer laughed. "Nah, but it should be. I'll put it in the suggestion box."

"Right on, mech…so which dispenser would ya recommend — …?" Jazz trailed off.

A few steps ahead, Blaster glanced behind him to find Jazz stopped at a standstill. "What are you looking at?"

Jazz mindlessly gestured, his mouth open, toward a black and white mech speaking with Wheeljack and Perceptor across the room.

"Oh no," Blaster murmured, shaking his head in amusement.

"_Who_…is that? And where did Primus sculpt that _gorgeous_ aft?" Jazz said, a slight tremor running from his horns to pedes.

"In Praxus. Did you even notice his wings?" Blaster said. "But before you get your processor runnin' too hot, don't even think about it."

Jazz tore his gaze away from the deliciously round aft to look at his friend. "Why not?"

"Because that's Prowl."

"…and?"

The communications officer shook his helm in disbelief. "Don't you know any of the command staff, Jazz? Prowl is second in command of the Autobots."

"…_and_?"

"And that should be reason enough! Besides, you wouldn't even manage to get within six inches of his backend."

"Is that a challenge, mech?" Jazz felt his fingers twitch in anticipation. It would be _oh so sweet _to run his hands all over that shiny aft.

"No, it's not a challenge. You'll get slagged!" Blaster warned.

Jazz waved him off. "Oh come on, mech. An officer like that sits at a desk all day fillin' out reports. I'm one of the best Ops agents we've got. He'd never see it comin'."

"Have it your way," Blaster shrugged.

With a wink of his visor, Jazz went to the dispenser for a cube. He mingled at various tables, but constantly kept his eye on the taller black and white across the room. Slowly, he made his approach as the commissary filled with a high traffic of mechs milling about. He subtly darted and weaved between the tables and bots, getting closer and closer. About a foot away, triple checking to make sure he wasn't in the SIC's peripheral, his hand reached out ready to grab —

Less than a nanoklik later, Jazz felt his audios buzzing with static and the cold metal of the commissary floor. His helm ached and his arm was painfully twisted behind his back. Dully, he registered the high-pitched whine of a blaster warming up to fire, its muzzle pressing snugly against the back of his helm.

Rebooting his visor a few times, Jazz realized he was pinned face down to the floor. And the dozens of pedes surrounding him suggested everyone in the commissary was now watching. He attempted to rise, but was completely immobilized.

"What do you think you're doing?" a sultry, deep voice asked above him.

"Uh…" was all Jazz could manage at the moment.

The hand gripping his arm tightened painfully and Jazz gasped.

"Prowl," another booming voice said.

"Sir?" the sultry voice acknowledged.

"Release him," the booming voice ordered.

The pressure immediately eased off Jazz's back and arm. Jazz dazedly struggled to rise, feeling himself hauled up to his pedes. Blaster slapped the back of his helm.

"You're such fraggin' idiot. I told you," Blaster hissed.

Jazz shook him off and regained his bearings as a large red and blue mech stood before him.

"Is there a problem, Blaster?" Optimus Prime intoned.

"No, sir. Just helping Jazz here get settled in," Blaster said.

Raising an optic ridge, Optimus nodded. "Very good. Jazz, is it? I've heard about you. Good things…and some _not so_ good things. In the future, I suggest you keep your hands to yourself."

Dumbly nodding, Jazz said, "Yes, sir."

The Prime turned to his SIC standing nearby. The tactician had a cool, bored look on his faceplate. "And Prowl, I thought we were clear about _overreacting_ to invasions of personal space?"

Prowl indifferently flicked an elegant wing. "I felt the reaction was an acceptable response, Prime."

The larger bot failed to suppress a chuckle behind his facemask. "Very well, but please try to exercise restraint. I need to go over some reports with you in my office."

The SIC nodded and dutifully followed him out of commissary. As soon as they disappeared around the corner, the room filled with inane chatter. The incident would spread to the entire base before third shift.

Blaster crossed his arms. "I hope you learned your lesson."

"How did he know I was behind him?" Jazz pondered out loud.

A red mech standing nearby overheard and explained, "Because he's evil."

"He's not evil, Sideswipe," Blaster admonished. "It's his wings."

"The wings?" Jazz asked.

"They're full of sensors. Very sensitive sensors. Prowl always knows if someone is behind him."

Jazz stared at the direction the two officers had disappeared. "Mech, I think I'm in love."

"Like I said, a fraggin' idiot," Blaster scoffed, trying to mask his amusement.

* * *

><p>Over the next several vorns, Jazz made multiple attempts to touch Prowl's aft. With zero success. When Jazz wasn't trying to grope the SIC's aft, the pair actually developed an easy rapport while working together on various missions. Jazz advanced quickly through the ranks of Special Ops. It didn't stop him from attempting to cop a feel of the tactician's aft.<p>

It became a source of amusement between them, but Jazz secretly hoped to have the upper hand one day. He would touch that aft, or die trying. Even after they woke up on Earth.

* * *

><p>The recon mission <em>started<em> as a simple recon mission, but turned into a rescue mission. Jazz, Prowl, Optimus, and Bumblebee were investigating rumors of Decepticon activity near a canyon. A series of large caverns lined the walls of the canyon creating the perfect cover for insidious plots. The thick walls of rock also acted as a natural dampener, making it difficult to identify and send signals.

All it took was Bumblebee losing his footing to tumble into Optimus who fell against Prowl who toppled into Jazz. And they all fell into a deep, hidden cavern below. Rocks covered the opening and plunged them into complete darkness. Dust filled the air and little rocks continued to clatter around as the debris settled.

"Everyone…._cough cough_….okay?" Optimus called out.

"Affirmative," Prowl softly answered.

"Think so," Jazz said.

"I'm stuck," Bumblebee stated.

Jazz chuckled, standing to brush himself off in the dark. "We'll find ya, 'Bee. My headlights aren't workin'. Anyone else?"

"All power systems are offline to conserve energy," Prowl noted.

Optimus instructed, "Fan out and feel along the rocks slowly. We'll find you, Bumblebee."

The three standing mechs shifted carefully and methodically in the dark as they searched. Jazz bumped into a rock and cursed. Not even the lights from his visor or the optics of his comrades were lit. Shuffling further, Jazz bumped into another mech.

Quickly, Jazz realized this might be the perfect opportunity to finally grab Prowl's aft. The dark, crowded cavern was disorienting, so the SIC's wing sensors wouldn't work as well. This was his chance!

Jazz eagerly reached out a hand to the mech he bumped into and felt a hip. He slid his hand down and gave the mech's aft a firm squeeze. "Gotcha!"

All movement in the cavern froze. "That's my aft, Jazz."

Jazz felt his spark stutter. Oh dear Primus, _no_. "Prowl…?"

"I'm over here," Prowl said, laughter evident in his voice from the other side of the dark space.

"Jazz, while I'm flattered, please take your hand off my aft," Optimus rumbled, failing to suppress a chuckle.

The ops mech rapidly pulled his hand away as if burned. "Oops?"


	19. Stakeout

Disclaimer: Don't own it.

* * *

><p><em><em>AN: Written for the September 2013 Anniversary Challenge on lj prowlxjazz community.__

* * *

><p>Original publish date: 917/13

Prompt: Want some?  
>Verse: G1-ishpre-Earth  
>Rating: GK  
>Warnings: tomfoolery; slight crack (Because I can't write serious things anymore?)<br>Summary: Prowl and Jazz are on a stakeout. A very serious stakeout.

* * *

><p><strong>Stakeout<strong>

Prowl lay flat on his abdomen, completely immobile. Not a single tremor or whir of hydraulics gave sign of his presence. The wings on his back were lowered as far as possible to help conceal him. His optics focused on the scope of his rifle, gaze intent on the tower balcony below across the expansive roadway. Slowly, he let out an intake of air through his vents and continued to steadily hold his position.

A slightly shifting pede creaked behind him.

_Creak_

_Squeak_

_Whir_

_Creak_

Prowl felt a wing twitch in irritation.

_Squeak_

_Creak creak squeak_

_Whir_

The tactician turned to glare at the bot crouched alongside his body.

Jazz didn't notice his glare. Or perhaps, he just didn't acknowledge it.

_Whir squeak_

_Creak_

_Squeak squeak squeak squeak —_

"Oh for the love of Primus! Jazz, be still," Prowl hissed in annoyance. "You'll give away our position."

The saboteur fixed his attention on the tactician and froze in the middle of his fidgeting.

He smiled sheepishly. "Sorry, mech. I'm not so great at sittin' still."

Prowl refocused his optics on the balcony. He muttered, "Then why are you on this mission?"

"Orders, Prowler. Couldn't say no," Jazz cheerfully supplied.

"You're an Ops mech. You should be able to remain stationary for extended periods of time."

"Sure, I can do that. Like a joor…two joors tops. But I'm a mech of motion, ya know? I don't really do slow an' steady. Jus' don't have the patience fer it."

Both junior officers, Prowl and Jazz found themselves on an Iacon rooftop across from a known Decepticon safe-house. The extravagant building and gaudy tower acted as a cover for weapons running. They were there to take out a top target in the swindling gang supplying dangerous assets to the enemy. Though Prowl functioned primarily as a tactician for the Autobots, he was still a topnotch sniper. Jazz was sent as backup and security detail while Prowl focused on acquiring a clear line of sight to take out the target.

Prowl was starting to wonder if one of the Twins would have been a better choice.

Beside him, he idly listened as Jazz finally settled down into a tolerable position. Silence enveloped his processor once more, and his surroundings faded into the background. His wings adjusted slightly to determine the direction and speed of the wind, which could impact the shot once things set into motion. It could be a few breems or several joors. They would wait until the target made an appearance or a superior officer ordered them to withdraw.

Another deep intake of air flowing smoothly through his vents.

Calm. Collected. Cool. Concentration. Coherence. Coordination.

_Crackle_

Prowl stiffened. What was that?

_Crackle crackle crunch_

_Crunch_

_Crunch crunch crunch crackle crunch_

The tactician shuttered his optics in disbelief; he grit his dentae. "Jazz?"

"Hmpf—_crunch_—fhrwl?"

"What are you doing?"

"_Crackle_—crghmph," came the explanation.

Sadly, Prowl was well-versed in incoherent, distorted communication from this particular comrade. "Why are you eating?"

"Ighm hufmrp," Jazz said.

"I don't care if you're hungry. Mute it before I stuff that energon goodie up your aft!" Prowl growled without turning away from his position.

Blissful silence followed. Long quiet moments passed between them, only the sound of blaring sirens in the distance and the wind howling against their plating. But the peace was only momentary.

Prowl felt a nudge on the shoulder supporting his rifle. He glanced at his companion in confusion.

Jazz grinned and held out a chunk of his crispy, crunchy energon goodie. "Want some?"

The Praxian felt something in his processor snap and abruptly pushed himself into a sitting position. "No, Jazz! I do _not_ want some. We are on a mission! And you need to be _QUIET!_" he shouted, seething.

Visor flickering at the outburst, Jazz saw something catch his optic within his peripheral. "Uh, Prowler…"

"Not another word! We've been out here for joors, and you're going to give away our position with your inane chatter and Primus-forsaken crunching!"

"But Prowl, ya really should —" Jazz tried to interrupt.

"I should really _what_, Jazz? Ask for a transfer? A more competent partner? Oh, I know! A nice, quiet desk job!" Prowl gestured wildly with his hands, rifle still within his grasp.

"Prowl!" Jazz yelled.

"What?!"

The saboteur grabbed the other mech's helm and turned it forcefully back toward the tower. No less than six enemy mechs were staring at them from the balcony. And began to open fire with blasters.

"Slag!" Prowl cursed and tackled Jazz to the ground behind their makeshift cover on the rooftop. Shots rained down on them.

Covering his horns, Jazz asked, "What now?"

Prowl charged up his rifle and said, "We finish the job and run like hell."

"You got it, mech," Jazz said with a grin. "I'll draw their fire."

Prowl nodded in acknowledgement. "Go."

Jazz transformed into his sleek alt-mode and began weaving back and forth across the rooftop, providing his partner the perfect distraction.

Taking a deep intake of air to focus, Prowl rolled to his knees and aimed without hesitation. He popped off six rounds taking out each mech with deadly precision, including their primary target. Distressed shouts and calls rang out through the safe-house as more mechs poured onto the balcony.

"Time to go, Jazz!" the tactician called out.

The saboteur transformed back into robot mode. They began sprinting to their designated exit and immediately transformed once they hit the street. Driving erratically for several blocks in case they had a tail, they settled into a more sedate pace as they re-entered a secure zone. Jazz sped alongside his companion and opened a private comm. line.

-_Well, that was fun!_- Jazz laughed.

Prowl huffed and did not dignify him with a response. Even if it _was_ kind of fun.


End file.
